


Second Chance

by Pamela Rose (pamela_rose)



Series: Dreams [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamela_rose/pseuds/Pamela%20Rose
Summary: Love means never having to say you're sorry. Although sometimes you should be very, very sorry.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Gary Mitchell, James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: Dreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751602
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Out of Bounds (1981)

### by Pamela Rose and Courtney Gray

Gary Mitchell carefully touched the double stripe on the sleeve of his uniform, tracing the weave of the gold braid with a fingertip. First Officer. He was First Officer of the _U.S.S. Phoenix_. It was still a little hard for him to believe. There had been times when he thought he would never make it further than chief navigator. Not that he wasn’t a good officer, he just never seemed to be quite good enough. Still, he had put in his time, gained seniority, and most important, he had kept his record clean, following the regs to the letter—at least as far as anyone that mattered knew. Finally, at the last promotional review, there were no wonder boys around to beat him out of it. If the _Phoenix_ were a constitution class starship, everything would be perfect. Mitchell shrugged philosophically. A destroyer was the next best thing. Besides, with his new rank, there was still a chance he could earn a place for himself on one of those sleek, silver ladies one day. He was happy—happier than he had been in many long months.

He leaned over the intercom and hesitated, quickly calculating the duty shifts for security before punching in the code. A few seconds later, the channel clicked open.

“Kirk.”

“Jim, can you come to my quarters?”

The reply came only after a noticeable pause. “I have to look over the new personnel files, start putting the security roster together.”

“You can do that later. Listen, Command assigned the new captain. I got the word this morning at the Base. He’ll be arriving on board tomorrow.”

“Who is it?”

“C’mon over and I’ll tell you,” answered Mitchell playfully.

“Gary . . . I don’t think—”

“Damnit, Jim, I just want to talk. Okay?”

There was another moment of silence. “Okay.”

* * *

After he flipped off the intercom, Kirk sat back in his desk chair and brushed aside the small pile of record clips and comtapes with the back of his hand. Why couldn’t he ever say no to Gary? A year should have made a difference. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair and stood up.

A short time later, Mitchell greeted him with a smile and a decanter of brandy. “How about a drink?”

“No, thanks, I think I’ll pass. Still have the roster to do tonight.”

“Hell, Jim, you can do that in no time with both of your beautiful eyes closed.”

Kirk straightened uncomfortably. “I thought you wanted to tell me about the new captain.”

“Sure, but can’t we at least have one drink in honor of our new status in life; first officer and security chief. Doesn’t happen every day, you know.”

Kirk’s eyes dropped to the floor and Mitchell forced a laugh. “Hey, Jim, I got your favorite, Saurian. Aged, too.”

He was already pouring the liquor into two glasses when Kirk looked up. “All right, but just one.”

“Fine,” agreed Mitchell cheerfully, handing him a glass. “Here’s to bigger and better promotions . . . and long overdue reunions.” He gulped down a large swallow, his measuring brown eyes never leaving Kirk’s face. “Well, aren’t you going to join in the toast?”

Kirk stared into the glass, swirling the amber liquid in circles. “You pushed for my promotion, didn’t you?”

Mitchell’s smile wavered. “You deserved it. It’s about time you stopped dodging every opportunity that comes your way. I could never understand that, not with your brains and talent. With your kind of ability, I would’ve made captain by now.”

Kirk ignored the last comment. “Compiling that report for Command didn’t give me much choice. I would’ve looked like a fool if I hadn’t accepted. Why didn’t you ask me first?”

“Because you would’ve told me not to do it, that’s why. That report was easy enough to put together. I’m not the only one who knows your value. In fact, I could have gotten recommendations from every officer you ever served with if I wanted. You’re not the type to go unnoticed, though god knows you’ve tried hard enough. Hey, you’re not really mad at me, are you?”

“I don’t know. I wish you hadn’t done it.”

“It got you here with me. I can’t feel sorry about it. The last year’s felt like ten to me.” He lowered his glass and leaned back against the desk, his voice hushed. “I’ve missed you, Jim.”

Kirk’s jaw tightened and he looked away. Sensing his friend’s retreat, Mitchell hoisted his glass and broke into a wide grin. “You’ll never believe who we got for our new captain.”

To his relief, Kirk turned back to him, curiosity replacing the caution on his face. “Who?”

“A Vulcan. Can you beat that? I never served under one of them before, but I’ve heard they’re real tough. No humor. Walking computers. This one’s supposed to be half-Human, though. Maybe that’ll make him a little more tolerable. He’s got a hot-shot reputation—used to carry double rank as Exec and science officer on the _Enterprise_.”

“I saw the _Enterprise_ a couple of times when she was docked for repairs at Starbase Nine,” commented Kirk. “She’s a beautiful ship.”

Mitchell wondered at the unexpectedly wistful tone in his friend’s voice. “Yeah, she could be the best in the Fleet if she ever got the kind of captain she deserves. Finney’s not exactly the most brilliant commander around. Talk about luck, he must have used up his quota when he got the _Enterprise_.”

“What’s the new captain’s name?” cut in Kirk, inexplicably disturbed by Mitchell’s remarks.

“Spock.”

The word felt like a slap in the face. Kirk took an involuntary step back as the past seemed to rush up before his eyes.

“Jim, what’s the matter?” Mitchell put down his glass, stopping uncertainly for a moment before crossing the room. The expression on his friend’s face made him reach out, grasping Kirk by both shoulders. At first, Kirk seemed unaware of the touch. A long silence passed before he snapped back to the present and noticed that his glass had been taken away and Gary’s arms were around his shoulders.

“Can’t be the same one . . . can’t be,” he murmured, gazing up into Mitchell’s worried face.

“What are you talking about?”

“I knew a Vulcan named Spock . . . years ago. I . . . I told you about it.”

Mitchell looked at him blankly, then the memory dawned. “You mean, _he_ was the one who—”

“Yes,” interrupted Kirk stiffly before Gary could finish.

“But you were only fifteen. It can’t be the same one. Besides, didn’t you tell me he was a teacher or something?”

The sandy head nodded.

“Spock may be a fairly common name on Vulcan, Jim. I’m sure it’s only a coincidence.”

“You’re right, of course. It just . . . caught me by surprise, hearing his name like that.”

“You don’t have to worry, Jim. If he ever shows up again, I’ll make sure he never bothers you.”

Kirk frowned and pulled away. “I can take care of myself, Gary. As a matter of fact, it’s my job to protect _you_.”

“Okay, okay . . . sorry. Leave it to me to put my foot in my mouth. I was only trying to tell you that I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you like that again, if I can help it. That’s all.”

They both stared awkwardly at each other, Kirk’s stony expression melting. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“If it hadn’t been for him, you would’ve stayed in Command instead of switching to Security.”

“That’s not true. I . . . I preferred going into Sec training.”

Mitchell pursed his lips into a skeptical line and shook his head slowly. “Who do you think you’re kidding? I was there, remember? Maybe you’ve made yourself believe that rationalization, but I know better. You were the most promising cadet in the whole damn class until—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Kirk’s voice was icy and remote.

“Sure, all right, past history anyway,” relented Mitchell. He watched Kirk closely, his own breath quickening in a familiar way. “What matters is right now.” He paused, then said impulsively, “I want to kiss you, Jim. Please let me.”

Kirk felt a knot forming in his stomach. He wanted to turn and run out of the room. He wanted to tell Gary that he had no desire to start where they left off a year ago. But even more than that, he wanted Gary to be his friend. He needed someone to talk to, to be with . . . someone to care about him. Gary was all that, but he always wanted more. Back at the Academy and later on the Farragut, Kirk had wanted it, too. At least, he had thought he did.

Now, the same dilemma faced him again. He didn’t want to give in to it. Falling back into his old relationship with Gary would be easy . . . safe. It was tempting. They insulated each other in their own private world. It was theoretically unnecessary, in their day and age, to bother with pretenses; homosexual relationships were hardly uncommon and certainly not ostracized, at least not openly. Yet somehow, perhaps because it had developed in a quiet, secret way in the wake of Kirk’s traumatic first (and last) year in command training, their association had been hidden from everyone but themselves. At the time, Kirk’s battered ego had not been strong enough to cope with the possibility of more harassment on top of the other rumors.

For his own part, Gary had carefully cultivated a reputation as a womanchaser. Although Kirk had eventually slept with a number of women himself, he never tried to flaunt the affairs as Mitchell had. Later, he understood why Gary kept up the Casanova image.

It was commonly known that a few members of the Admiralty and Review Boards took a dim view of the less traditional types of sexual behavior among their officers. They were definitely a reactionary minority, but they did have influence. And Mitchell believed in looking out for his own interests. As he had told Kirk once, “You’ve got to outsmart them, Jim; cover all the angles, and always make it _look_ good.”

It was a philosophy Kirk could not share. His personality lacked that particular brand of deviousness. He couldn’t even lie well. “Everything shows on your face,” Gary had complained. Maybe if it had been a matter of taking charge of the lives and safety of others . . . but Kirk had never had that kind of responsibility, nor did he feel entitled to it. Until his promotion, he had only himself to worry about, and that was the way he wanted it. It was his strong sense of privacy and shyness that had lent itself to Mitchell’s public deception.

The pressure of a hand on his shoulder jarred Kirk back to the moment. The hand rose to stroke the side of his face, and Kirk felt the knot in his belly tighten. His resolve was crumbling. Too much had happened too quickly. He needed a friend, and the mention of Spock had made that need strangely immediate. He suddenly realized he would stay if that was what Gary wanted.

“You’re so damn attractive, Jim. You can’t really expect me to keep my distance. You’re even more of a knock-out now than you were at the Academy.”

“Cut it out, Gary,” muttered Kirk, flushing a soft crimson under his tan.

Mitchell laughed warmly. “Stop being so modest.” He pulled Kirk to him, ignoring the slight resistance. “Didn’t you miss me, even a little bit, all these months?”

“Yes,” Kirk answered truthfully, “but I’m not so sure I missed this part of it.”

Gary’s mouth pressed tightly to his, halting whatever else Kirk may have wanted to say. There was a hunger in the kiss, a very basic need to touch, to feel, as Gary’s tongue teased his lips open, searching and tasting. Mitchell’s fingers began skillfully exploring underneath the red shirt, up the strong, smooth back and down to the line of the black pants. Without breaking the embrace, he drew them toward the bed.

* * *

An air of nervous anticipation permeated the ship. Last minute checks and drills were repeated all morning. Finally word came from the Base: The Captain was coming on board.

In the main transporter room, Kirk examined the honor guard with a critical eye. He had spent the last few hours in Security, going over procedures with his personnel after he had completed the new roster. As Gary had predicted, it hadn’t taken him long, but he had focused all his attention on it, mainly to avoid thinking about the night before. The memory stirred, bringing with it a wave of ambivalent feelings, and he glanced up just in time to catch Gary staring back at him, eyes smiling.

“The signal’s coming through. Captain Spock is ready to beam up,” announced the Transporter Chief.

“Attention,” ordered the First Officer as the sound of the traditional ship’s whistle filled the room. The transporter hummed to life as shimmering pinpoints appeared and coalesced into a tall, gold-shirted form.

No one heard Kirk’s sharp intake of breath as the Vulcan stepped forward. Mitchell made the official introductions and not even a practiced observer would have been able to tell that the Captain was barely listening. From the instant he had materialized on the platform, Spock’s attention had been riveted to only one person in the room. Although he hardly seemed to glance in Kirk’s direction, the dark eyes had taken in every detail of the familiar form.

He was struck, first and foremost, by Kirk’s youthfulness. It was unsettling to realize what a difference the burden of command had made on Kirk in their original timeline. Also, Spock’s wish to change the past had affected not only future events, but the very eddies of time themselves, as the Vulcan had discovered when he had more carefully researched Kirk’s present history. The man that stood before him now was actually several years younger than his counterpart. It was almost as though fate had given Spock a second chance to make amends for the fulfillment of his regrettable desire to tamper with the course of Kirk’s life.

The Vulcan knew at once that Kirk recognized him. That was inevitable, of course, but he had not been prepared for the force of the Human’s reaction, or for the level of shock that registered in the luminous, hazel eyes. He continued to feel their incredulous gaze on his back as he automatically acknowledged Mitchell’s introductions. The First Officer stopped abruptly and Spock noted that he was staring past his shoulder in Kirk’s direction. The pause was only for a second, but the Vulcan was puzzled by the peculiar mixture of confusion and disbelief on Mitchell’s face. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared. When the young officer looked back at Spock, the Vulcan thought he detected a subtle difference in his manner, an added element of intense scrutiny that hadn’t existed a moment before. Wrapped up in controlling his own responses at seeing Jim again, Spock gave it no more than a cursory notice.

“Captain, this is your Security Chief, Lieutenant James Kirk.”

Spock turned, steeling himself for the moment, knowing that Jim was walking toward him at Mitchell’s nod. He stood less than an arm’s length away. The Vulcan could have reached out and . . .

“Welcome aboard the _Phoenix_ , Captain,” managed Kirk. There was a slight tremor in his voice. The young face contained an open vulnerability that Spock had rarely seen in the Kirk he had known before. This one was startlingly handsome. It was true that Kirk could be regarded as good-looking at any age, in any universe, but there was a quality of tender uncertainty, a marked lack of arrogance, that Spock had never encountered before. He found it deeply compelling.

With a concerted effort, Spock maintained his Vulcan mask. “Thank you, Lieutenant Kirk,” he said without inflection, forcing his gaze away from the well-loved face and the expressive, long-lashed eyes that bore into his heart. He moved toward the door, unaware of his First Officer who stood silently by, watching the exchange with probing interest.

“Captain,” Mitchell said, halting Spock at the door, “would you care to—”

“I think we can dispense with the customary tour of the ship,” broke in Spock. “I am quite familiar with the design of a destroyer class ship, Mr. Mitchell. Have the department heads meet me in the briefing room in one hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a moment of strained silence after the doors slid shut behind the Vulcan. The Transporter Chief was the first to speak, voicing the opinion of all but two of the room’s occupants.

“Damn, he’s a cold fish. No doubt about it, chums, he’s going to be a real pain in—”

“Shut up, Gibb,” Mitchell cut him off sharply. “All of you better get your reports prepared for the briefing.”

The reception committee went their separate ways, and the First Officer caught up with Kirk in the corridor. “Wait, Jim. We might as well ride up together.” Once in the turbolift, Mitchell confronted him squarely. “Okay, what is it? You looked like somebody kicked you in the gut when you saw Spock. You’re not going to try and tell me this is the same guy?”

“It’s him,” Kirk said simply, eyes riveted to the opposite wall.

“It can’t be. I’ve seen his record and he’s been in ‘fleet for over twenty years. I thought you told me your Vulcan was a professor or something, and about forty? Spock’s only forty-two now. I know Vulcans don’t age like we do, but be reasonable!”

“I don’t care . . . I know it’s him.” Kirk’s voice was slightly hoarse. “He hasn’t changed at all.”

“Come on, Jim, you have to be mistaken.” The expression in Kirk’s eyes made Mitchell uneasy. He tried to joke away from it. “Listen, you know what they say, all Vulcans look—”

“Stop it, Gary. You don’t have to believe me, but just drop it, okay? I’m not in the mood to listen to your rotten jokes. Let’s just say I’m imagining the whole thing, and leave it at that.”

Gary touched Kirk’s arm, feeling the muscles strung tight with tension. “Hey, I’m sorry. I just don’t like to see you upset, baby.” His hand moved to massage the back of Kirk’s neck lovingly. The endearment had always been a barometer of how much Kirk was willing to accept. Kirk moved away, resenting again, as he had so often, Gary’s patronizing attitude. Mitchell noticed the withdrawal and let him go, realizing it was the wrong time to press for any kind of intimacy. Their relationship was still shaky, even after last night.

“All right, Jim. I accept that this is the same man, but I don’t see what difference it makes. He’s probably forgotten you anyway. He certainly didn’t act like he recognized you.”

“No . . . he didn’t, did he?” Kirk said it slowly, almost to himself. “It’s been a long time. I guess I’ve changed, even if he hasn’t.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Out of the whole damn universe, why did it have to be this ship?”

Mitchell started to speak, but the turbolift doors opened. He caught Kirk’s arm as they stepped out. “Jim, don’t let this bother you—”

Kirk shrugged off the restraining hand without comment. “We have some reports to get ready, remember?” he said after a moment.

Mitchell released him reluctantly. He didn’t like the feeling that Jim was closing himself off. It meant too much to have him back, and the last thing they needed was more complications. Still, he knew Jim far too well to push—Kirk could be pliable and submissive, but there was a stubborn streak in him that Gary seldom cared to challenge.

“Okay, Jim. I’ll see you later. Don’t worry. If he starts anything, I’ll take care of it.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say when he saw the anger flash in Kirk’s eyes.

“You won’t do a damn thing, Gary. Do you understand me? Just stay out of it. I can take care of myself. Stop playing with my life.”

Holding back his own irritation, Gary smiled disarmingly. “Shit, Jim, don’t take it out on me. I just want to help, you know that.” He glanced down the empty corridor. “You can take a swing at me if you want, but there’s no way I’m going to stop caring what happens to you.”

The persuasiveness of Gary’s smile melted Kirk’s anger effectively. It was nothing new; Gary had years of practice at manipulating Jim Kirk. He could always convince him better with a smile than a scowl.

“I’m sorry, Gar. I didn’t mean to jump at you like that. I’m kind of confused right now.”

Mitchell gripped Kirk’s shoulder. “Forget it. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure.”

But later in the briefing room, Kirk barely acknowledged Mitchell’s presence. He was totally absorbed in the Vulcan, although he kept dropping his gaze back to the clipboard he held too tightly.

Spock acted with cool efficiency, listening to the reports, issuing new orders and making suggestions, studying the individuals under his command. He took this captaincy very seriously, although his reason for accepting it was far different from what Starfleet Command could know. Spock listened to his executive officers attentively; they were the men and women he would be dealing with daily, on whom he must depend for his information. Despite his concentration, his heart was pounding wildly, waiting for Jim’s turn.

He wanted to be able to look at him openly, watch him, hear his voice, search for the differences between this attractive young stranger and the man he’d loved for years. He was almost afraid to find out.

When Kirk spoke, he kept his agitation safely hidden behind his professionalism. He proceeded to describe his method of organization and training in sharp, precise detail, and went on to propose specific changes in the ship’s layout and weapons deployment with an eye towards greater safety and faster access to critical systems during emergencies. His recommendations were both logical and innovative and promised to save time and lives, but Spock found himself drifting on the mellow, rich tones of his voice. Whatever else had changed in Jim, the basic strength and intelligence was still very much there, and the voice reflected it.

Spock was momentarily lost in a reverie of past briefings under very different circumstances when he realized Kirk had stopped talking. For the first time, their eyes really met and held. For an instant they both opened up, searching hungrily for an answering spark, but Spock drew back quickly, writing an innocuous note on his pad, leaving the Human feeling empty and rejected. The next time Spock dared to look at him, Kirk’s eyes were cast down, the long lashes shading the lightly flushed cheeks. Regretting his caution, Spock tried to catch his eye again, but Kirk would not look up.

When the meeting came to an end, Spock watched Jim leave, fighting the urge to go after him. But he had promised himself when he made the decision to accept this captaincy that he would keep his distance from Kirk. Illogically, he had hoped that merely being near him would be enough. He knew now it could never be that simple.

Gary Mitchell had spent the briefing observing both Kirk and their new captain. Kirk had conducted himself well, but there had been that strange moment when his face had registered hopeful anticipation before falling swiftly into melancholy. And Spock hadn’t been as totally Vulcan as he had thought, either. Even if Kirk hadn’t caught all the questing looks directed at him, Gary had. It was obvious now that Jim knew what he was talking about. Spock was the man who had seduced him seventeen years ago. As impossible as it seemed, Gary knew it was true, although he was still too stunned to consider how he should handle the situation. One thing was clear: The Vulcan not only recognized Jim, but still wanted him.

In his quarters, Kirk paced restlessly. The scene in the briefing room had stung more than he’d imagined it would—and he’d imagined meeting Spock again a hundred times over. But never like this. And never in his dreams had Spock been so cold. Kirk wasn’t sure how he felt now. Confusion, certainly . . . and sadness. His memories of that long ago interlude had been sweet, and his memories of Spock very different from what he saw now. Spock appeared the same, but little in the dark, somber eyes recalled the gentle, empathic alien of his remembrance.

In his disappointment, Kirk’s view of the Vulcan changed. For the first time he viewed that episode as something slightly indecent. What had seemed spontaneous then, now appeared coldly calculated. The Vulcan’s action at the time, with a fifteen-year-old, impressionable boy, seemed unethical in the extreme. What had he been after then? What did he want now?

Kirk had no answers, and he was suddenly intimidated by the attraction he still felt for Spock. He resented it. Obviously, it wasn’t mutual. Spock had hardly noticed him except—Kirk cut off the thought angrily. He was insane to think there had been some glimmer of response in that icy Vulcan. Gary was right; why should he remember a kid he’d had years ago?

 _As far as that goes_ , Kirk thought bitterly, _why should I care?_ Needing to take his mind from the whole issue, he left his cabin. He found himself just outside Mitchell’s quarters before he realized it. It had been an automatic reaction, born of many such journeys in younger days when he was troubled. He stopped, again angry with himself. Hadn’t he spent the last year trying to get away from this kind of dependence?

But the thought of his empty cabin and the ghosts of the past lurking there drove him on. Spock didn’t care . . . he’d never cared. Gary did.

Mitchell stood when Kirk entered, his expression revealing his delight. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”

Kirk found himself smiling back and moving closer. “Why would you think that? Where else would I go?”

Mitchell put his arms around Kirk. “Nowhere. Nowhere at all, baby. I was just afraid . . . Is it all okay? I’ve been wondering—”

Kirk leaned closer, pressing against the taller body. “Will you forgive me for that scene in the turbolift earlier? I guess I was a little nervous.”

Gary rubbed his cheek against the sandy hair, pleased at Jim’s change of mood. It was more like the boy he’d first known . . . sweet, dependent, unsure. He could sense Kirk’s need in the way he held him. Playing on this sudden vulnerability, Gary slipped his hands under Kirk’s shirt, caressing the muscled back. “I told you it didn’t matter. I know it had to be a shock seeing him again after all these years, especially since he didn’t even acknowledge you. And I know how much he meant to you . . . and how it made you feel later. I was there to pick up the pieces, remember?”

“I remember,” Kirk said, muffled against the gold shirt.

Mitchell nuzzled Jim’s neck, then pulled back slightly to look at him. “He must be an idiot anyway. I never could have forgotten you.”

Their mouths met feverishly, Kirk responding with an enthusiasm, almost a desperation, that had been absent the night before. Mitchell accepted it happily, not really caring at the moment what caused the change. Kirk had come to him for the first time in a very long time, and he wasn’t about to question it.

Kirk pulled back, eyes radiating desire. He tugged off his shirt and tossed it into a chair. “Let’s go to bed,” he said quietly.

Mitchell followed him into the bedroom, feeling he had lost control somewhere along the line, but certain he would regain it. They lay down on the bed, and Gary rolled Kirk onto his back, his hands busy stroking the goldtinged skin. He needn’t have worried; Jim wanted to be dominated, taken. Spock’s appearance had affected him more deeply than he cared to admit, even to himself. Seeing the Vulcan brought back a barrage of memories, both good and bad, that he’d spent seventeen years trying to erase. Some part of him needed to retreat to a safer level, one where he knew what to expect and what was required of him.

“Gary . . . hold me. Talk to me like you used to . . . talk to me,” Kirk murmured almost frantically.

Mitchell gathered his lover into his arms, whispering the old, loving phrases, the soothing, possessive words, and basked in the joyful knowledge that Jim needed him—would always need him.

* * *

Spock finished bolting the firepot to the bulkhead and stood back to check its position. The eternal flame pulsed softly, falsely promising the peace of meditation. He knew better. Bitter experience had taught him the impossibility of finding peace when the soul was torn in two.

Looking around the room, he searched for something else to keep him occupied, but all was in order. It looked like every other ship’s cabin he’d been assigned. Muted black and red hangings, sultry, temperature warm, contrasting strangely with his publicly cold personality.

Finding nothing left to keep his hands busy, Spock sighed and lay down on the bed, arms folded under his head. He knew he would not sleep—he seldom slept anymore—but he also knew he must try to gather his thoughts before he had to face the crew. His crew. His ship.

Spock turned on his side, pillowing his face on his hands. It seemed like such a ludicrous joke . . . he commanding a ship, while Jim was merely . . .

 _No, not merely_, he thought angrily, _he could never be merely anything. He is head of security on a destroyer, an honorable position, and one he will perform excellently, as he does everything. I must stop thinking in terms of what was and accept what is. I am the cause of it, but I cannot change it now. I dare not try without risking even greater damage to his life. No, I must learn to accept._

He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of Kirk’s face filling his mind. _Jim, have you found any happiness here, or have I taken that away from you, too? Happiness . . . a word without meaning until you taught me its true definition. Your eyes . . . there was such loneliness in them, or was it only a reflection of my own . . ._

He drew a shuddering breath, rolled onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling. For Jim’s sake, he had to keep his distance. He would not risk distressing him again. If that meant he had created his own private hell, a universe where he would always be a stranger to the only person he had ever loved, then that was the price he would pay. And yet, the tiny hope persisted that perhaps, one day, Jim would seek him out on his own, and they would rediscover . . .

His fingers clutched at the bedclothes. _No. Do not delude yourself_ , the inner voice admonished. _That is finished. Over. Remember his face, the way it looked in the briefing room today after I turned away from him. Had he been searching for recognition in my eyes—hoping for it? No matter. I gave him my answer with my Vulcan mask, and he accepted it. Now, l must do the same_.

Resolve formed like a chilling frost inside him. Though he knew he would not sleep, he closed his eyes.

* * *

Days passed in hurried activity as the _Phoenix_ began its first long-range patrol under its new captain. The suggested changes in procedure and operation were implemented with a minimum of difficulty. Spock’s ability and intelligence quickly won him the respect of the crew, although his icy formality effectively stopped any attempts to develop friendlier relationships.

The captain saw his Security Chief almost every day, but usually only in passing. On the few occasions when they spoke, it was always about ship’s business, and then only for a few minutes. Neither man realized what private pain these brief encounters caused the other.

After a week of settling routine, the ship faced its first emergency: a distress call from Milne 417, a newly charted planet on the edge of their sector.

Upon arrival, they were unable to establish visual or audio contact with the tiny lone outpost. Spock ordered his First Officer to beam down with a landing party to investigate. Mitchell assigned Kirk to accompany him and lead the security detail. It was proper procedure, of course; a security chief rarely remained aboard the ship under such circumstances—and a captain rarely did not. _Unless he’s Captain James T. Kirk_ , thought Spock ruefully. Kirk had often disregarded Starfleet guidelines on such matters. The Vulcan found it bitterly ironic that now, even as captain, he could not keep Kirk away from danger any better than he could as his second-in-command.

He waited tensely for the landing party’s first report. It was late. He was on the verge of beaming down with another landing party when the call finally came through. Mitchell reported the outpost was in ruins, apparently destroyed by some huge bear-like creatures. The four scientists that comprised the outpost’s staff were missing. Tricorders registered a jumble of readings, including Human traces. A search was in progress. The _Phoenix_ sensors had also picked up an unusually concentrated display of readings, but were unable to pinpoint the exact location of the missing Humans. The task was left to the landing party.

Spock realized that the waiting was even worse when he was sitting in the command chair. Although it seemed like a century, it was only a little over two hours before Mitchell signaled that they had found the scientists alive and were ready to beam up. Two of the security officers had been injured. The Vulcan experienced a heartbeat of agony before Mitchell identified the two men; Jim was not one of them.

When they materialized in the transporter room, Spock was waiting, along with the medical team. Kirk’s face was ashen with worry as he lowered the blood-stained body of Ensign Ling into the arms of the doctors. Next to him, Gary Mitchell stood supporting the battered form of Ensign Derrill.

The injured were quickly hustled away to Sickbay, with Kirk hurrying after them. Though it was difficult, Spock resisted the temptation to call him back to make sure he wasn’t hurt seriously beneath the torn and dirty uniform, just bruised and shaken.

Later that day, the captain began logging the report and the _Phoenix_ was on its way to the nearest Starbase to drop off the four scientists. It would be a long time before they returned to Milne 417. At the scientists’ urging, and with the concurrence of his First Officer, Spock was issuing a temporary quarantine on Milne until a thorough research scan of its life forms was conducted. The first survey ship had not catalogued any hostile life readings, yet the lumbering, angry creatures that had devastated the outpost had been anything but non-violent. It was a small mystery, but one that would have to be solved by a fully outfitted science vessel. The Vulcan wished he could have pursued the problem; it was the sort of puzzle the _Enterprise_ would have tackled. But it was just another in the long list of changes to which he would have to accustom himself in this new life.

He glanced at the chronometer, then at the door, his eyes brightening. There was still one last entry to be made. Thankfully, no one had died on the rescue mission, but Derrill and Ling were still in guarded condition. Submitting a separate security report to the captain was standard procedure in cases of serious injury or death. And Jim would be giving that report.

* * *

Kirk clenched the tape in his hand as he neared Spock’s quarters. Ever since the security party had beamed up, he had been wracked by guilt. He had gone over the incident again and again in his mind, trying to pinpoint his errors. His distress, over what he believed to be his own failure to safeguard his men, had even eclipsed his confused feelings about facing his captain privately.

The door slid open and he saw Spock sitting at his desk, hands folded neatly before him. When Kirk didn’t move closer, Spock said quietly, “May I have the report, Lieutenant?”

Drawing his breath and totally missing the soft look in the Vulcan’s eyes, Kirk crossed the room and handed him the tape. “It was my fault, Captain,” he blurted as Spock stared back in surprise. “I take full responsibility. I should have known there would be trouble. I shouldn’t have let Derrill and Ling scout that ravine. It was a perfect place for an ambush.” He shook his head, his teeth gritted angrily. “If we had arrived there a minute later, they would have been killed—”

“Lieutenant, you did precisely what was necessary,” cut in Spock firmly. “There is no need for self-recrimination. The facts I glean from the other reports state that you set yourself up as a decoy on the ridge above. You took the greater risk; at least Derrill and Ling had some protection from the rocks. When I called you here, it was not only to log your tactical report, but also to commend you for your actions.”

Kirk looked at him incredulously. “Commend me? How can you say that?” he snapped, rank forgotten. “If I had done my job right, they wouldn’t have been hurt.”

The words had an achingly familiar sound. It was so like Jim to expect the impossible of himself, to set standards so high he could never reach them, only to end up blaming himself when he couldn’t.

Spock stood and came around to the front of the desk, hands clasped purposefully behind his back. The pain in Kirk’s eyes sliced through him like a laser. “Do not blame yourself. You are a fine officer; a credit to this ship. There is no logic in condemning yourself for factors beyond your control.”

Kirk was bewildered by the gentle tone in the Captain’s voice, the degree of emotion in the lean face.

“If anyone has reason to feel guilt, it is I,” continued the Vulcan, suddenly unable to hold back the words. “Not for what happened today, but for what I did to you seventeen years ago.”

The Human gasped in shock. “You . . . you remember.”

“I could not possibly forget, Jim.”

An unexpected warmth surged through Kirk at hearing his name. Spock had been so very formal since his arrival on the _Phoenix_.

“Perhaps I should not have told you, but I could not help . . .” The words trailed off as his dark eyes slowly searched Kirk’s face, mesmerized by the clean symmetry of the sculpted features. The Vulcan felt irresistibly drawn to that face, to that body. He longed to hold Kirk in his arms, to tell him how deeply he was loved. Yet that was the one thing he had sworn not to do. Yielding to his own desires had harmed Jim far too much already.

The moment intensified. With a crushing effort, Spock took a step back. “Why did you run away?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Kirk turned his back, riveting his eyes to the floor. It was the one question he’d hoped Spock would never ask. “There were a lot of reasons . . . some I can’t even remember now. I guess I . . . I didn’t know what it all meant. There were too many emotions, and I just couldn’t . . .” He paused, sighing. “My mother saw us together. She _saw_ us.”

The Vulcan held his breath, stunned by the revelation.

“You have to understand,” Kirk was saying. “She never wanted me to go to the Academy. She didn’t want me to leave her, like my father had. It . . . it twisted her up inside. I was so much like him, you see, wanting to see the unknown, explore. She hated aliens. After she saw what happened between us, I guess it confirmed every lie she wanted to believe. She told me I was sick, perverted . . . that I wasn’t fit to enter the Academy.”

“But you didn’t believe her,” Spock put in. “You knew that wasn’t true.”

“Yes . . . but . . . I was so young, unsure about everything. I wanted to talk to you, but she told me that if I saw you again, she could get _you_ in a lot of trouble . . . because of what we did. And she was right. I didn’t want to do that, so I left. I didn’t know what else to do—” He broke off, the memory painful. “She thought she could keep me out of the Academy because of . . . She was wrong.”

“But you did not remain in command training. Why?”

“It just . . . didn’t work out,” Kirk replied vaguely.

The Vulcan watched him, trying to imagine how it must have been, knowing again that _he_ was the cause of it. He realized that Jim was giving him only a part of the truth, and he was secretly relieved. At that moment, he doubted he could bear to hear any more.

“I am sorry,” Spock said softly.

The words brought Kirk out of his reverie. “Are you?”

“I did not realize the damage it would do to your life.”

Kirk laughed bitterly. “Damage? Yeah, I suppose you could say that. But it wasn’t what _you_ did—it was _both_ of us. I was more than willing. I may have been young, but I knew what I wanted. Just like I knew I wanted Starfleet.”

Spock shook his head. “May actions were still inappropriate—wrong. And it _did_ adversely affect your life.”

“My mother affected my life.” Kirk paused, then met the Vulcan’s eyes squarely. “What I can’t figure out is what you’re doing here now—or maybe the real question is, why were you _there_ seventeen years ago? It doesn’t make sense. Or do you make a habit of seducing young boys on your shore leaves?”

Spock stiffened as if struck. “Jim, it is impossible to explain to you how and why it happened. You would not believe me if I did. At times, I hardly believe it myself.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, but I guess it doesn’t matter. It was a very long time ago, and it’s too late to change it now . . . even if we wanted to.” There was a question in Kirk’s voice, but Spock didn’t answer, hit again by the reality of the words. _Too late_.

Kirk straightened, throwing his shoulders back. “Anyway, thank you for trying to make it easier for me regarding Derrill and Ling. It makes a difference to hear you say I did the right thing, even if I can’t quite accept it yet.”

Jim’s eyes became a shy invitation, seeking a response that the Vulcan was simply too afraid to give. An alarm sounded in the back of his mind, warning him to retreat while he still could. Things were happening too fast. He had to control, for Jim’s sake.

Spock said, “Now that . . . everything is out in the open, I trust the past will not interfere with the present. We both have our duty to perform and that must be our primary concern. It is not a matter of ‘making things easier’—a job well done deserves acknowledgement.” He forced the distance into his voice and tried not to look away from the wounded eyes.

Kirk was stunned by the abrupt change in Spock’s manner. The warmth and the . . . longing . . . were gone. Or perhaps he had only imagined them. A Vulcan stood before him—no more, no less. All at once, Kirk felt very lonely. It was a hollow, desperate ache that chilled him.

“I see, Captain. Like I said, what happened between us was a long time ago. It’s not important anymore.” The words were spoken harshly, his only defense. “You don’t have to worry, it won’t get in the way of my . . . duty.” His nails were digging into the palms of his clenched fists and he knew he would choke if he tried to talk about it any longer. “Will that be all, sir?”

Spock nodded numbly and Kirk turned on his heel and left.

* * *

The chasm widened between the two men. They saw each other less often, even in passing, and Spock suspected that Jim was now deliberately avoiding him. Once or twice he would see him in the rec room during meal periods, usually with Gary Mitchell. That knowledge both comforted and annoyed the Vulcan. He was thankful Jim had a close friend, yet he couldn’t shake off a vague feeling of animosity towards Mitchell. He had not been surprised when he discovered who his first officer was to be, for Kirk and Mitchell had served together from their days at the Academy in the other time line as well. He was a competent enough officer and Spock did not doubt Mitchell’s professional loyalty. Rather, it was something about the man himself. He could not quite put his finger on it; this aversion was not unlike what he had felt about him on the _Enterprise_. Jealousy of his closeness to Jim? The invading thought disturbed him and he pushed it aside.

Partly to divert his mind from the frozen impasse with Jim, the Vulcan began pouring his energies into his command. He became involved with every facet of the ship’s operation, familiarizing himself with each crewmember’s responsibilities and keeping a close eye on every department’s performance. Efficiency ratings climbed under his constant scrutiny. He worked longer hours, frequently carrying double shifts. At other times he could be found in the ship’s computer lab, programming data, often in the middle of the ship’s night. Many of the crew began to wonder if the Vulcan ever slept.

He spent some time researching the differences between this time line and the one he had lost. They were surprisingly few. Other ships had often taken care of the emergencies the _Enterprise_ had dealt with before; other captains had found other answers. The barrier around the galaxy had never been breached, or at least not successfully. The Guardian of Forever had never been discovered. The cloaking device had been attained by force rather than by espionage. The doomsday machine had been stopped by three ships—the _Enterprise_ was merely one of those ships. The existence of the Vians was never recorded, and no single race of that system had been saved from the nova. There were a few changes in this time line, but mostly there were simply—omissions -things that had never been accomplished, because James Kirk had never been the captain to order them done, or to insist on the answers. Still, it was painful to see just how little the universe had been affected by that lack.

A month passed and the _Phoenix_ was docked at Space Station K-4 to load supplies for an emergency run to the medical facility on Pollux. As expected, Spock was overseeing the loading operation personally. At one point, he left the cargo hold to talk with the Station’s dock chief. He was returning through the deserted access walkway when he heard several crewmen talking, their voices echoing in the cavernous main hold. He could see them from the darkened walkway, though he was hidden from their view.

“He’s a goddamn iceberg, I tell you. No wonder he spends his nights with the computer. Two of a kind.”

“Yeah, I can’t understand how Vulcan can be so hot if everyone on it is as cold as that one.”

“Shut up, he could come back any minute.”

“Sure—he has to keep an eye of all us ‘component parts.’”

There was a short burst of laughter as they began stacking the floater crates into their insulated compartments.

“Hell, Spock’s the living definition of ‘alien.’” More laughter.

Alone in the shadowed corridor, Spock tried to swallow away the sudden tightness in his throat. He started to back away, but stopped as one of the technicians called out nervously, “Watch it, it’s Kirk.”

The other two didn’t seem to hear. “Never thought we’d be stuck with an alien freak for a cap—”

“Hanson.”

Kirk’s voice silenced the man in mid-sentence. All three snapped to attention and turned to face their Security Chief. “Shit,” mumbled one under his breath.

“You were saying something about the Captain, Hanson?” Kirk asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

The technician had heard that tone before and he fidgeted openly. “I, uh, that is, uh, we were just talking . . . sir.”

“Yes, I heard some of that . . . talk.”

Hanson started to speak, but his nerve folded under Kirk’s frosty stare. “I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m going to say,” began the Security Chief with false sweetness, “because I really hate to have to repeat myself.” The gaze he pinned on them sharpened. “If I ever hear any of you mouthing your small-minded, bigoted slurs against the Captain, you’ll answer to me—personally. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Mr. Kirk.”

“Hanson?” he demanded as the third man continued to stand mutely.

Summoning all his bravado, Hanson muttered, “A Vulcan isn’t fit to command Humans, no more than a computer. It’s not fair.”

For an instant, Spock thought Kirk was going to strike the man. He could see Hanson flinch away as though he expected a blow. But Kirk had simply taken a step forward. Spock could only see his profile, but he could perceive the controlled fury in Kirk’s athletic body, could almost feel the struggle to control it.

“We’ve got no room for your prejudices here, Hanson. Either work them out fast, or I will be delighted to sign a transfer even faster. Understand?”

The man nodded reluctantly.

“I didn’t hear your answer, mister.” Kirk’s voice was menacingly low.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get back to work.”

They hurried over to the crates and resumed loading, not uttering a word until they were sure the Security Chief had left the hold.

“Dammit, Hanson, now you’ve done it. You and all that stupid talk. Now you’ve got Kirk on our backs. Shit, he’s the last person I want on my tail; he’s tougher than the Captain, and he’s got a _temper_.”

“Hell, how was I to know he’d get so hot and bothered? After all, Spock doesn’t even give him the time of day—”

“Just shut up and get back to work before you get us in more trouble.”

Slowly the Vulcan made his way back through the walkway, feeling peculiarly ambivalent. Jim had stood up for him. The fire in the young Human’s voice had revealed more to him than a ship’s officer enraged by a few bigoted remarks—remarks that were similar to grumblings about any captain at one time or another. It had been the sound of a man defending a friend. Friend. The thought made Spock feel at once proud and ashamed.

Hanson had been right. In his single-minded determination not to interfere in Kirk’s life, Spock had sealed himself off emotionally from everyone, especially from Jim. He was running the _Phoenix_ the way he ran the computer—caught up in efficiency quotients and mechanics, and ignoring the people, the men and women that made the ship function. He had slipped into the role easily; it had been his old dodge for as long as he could remember—until Jim Kirk had made him aware of so much more.

Enough. If he couldn’t have Jim as a lover, he could still win him as a friend. That alternative was one he hadn’t really considered. He had set the rules at all or nothing. Perhaps there was still a place somewhere between the two. It was time to stop taking the easy way out.

In the days following, the crew began to see a gradual change in their captain. There were no more double shifts, no more all night sessions with the computer. He began to acknowledge the crew as individuals. The Vulcan reserve was still there, but now it yielded enough so some of the crew even ventured to talk with him on a casual basis. At first they were surprised, and then pleased at not receiving the usual icy rebuff. They were beginning to discover that their commander was a very complex man, and not one to be effortlessly stereotyped, as several of them had assumed.

The change did not go unnoticed by the Chief of Security either. The first time Spock came up to him in the rec room, Kirk nearly spilled the cup of coffee he was holding.

“May I join you?” the Captain asked.

Kirk merely nodded, too startled to speak. He had been relaxing for a few minutes, having just come off duty. Since Gary was on the late shift that night, he thought he would either work out in the gym alone or just get a booktape out of the library and read in his quarters. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet the Vulcan. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other since the incident at Milne 417.

Kirk noticed that Spock actually seemed uncomfortable, his long fingers absently rubbing the glass of juice he held. The dark eyes surveyed the half-crowded room and came to rest on the chess set that lay ignored on a vacant game table.

“I—” Spock cleared his throat and began again. “I hope I am not keeping you from anything.”

For a moment Kirk contemplated making up an excuse—he had a report to do, or a meeting to attend, or . . . something. But one look at Spock’s eyes and he knew he couldn’t do it. “No, I have nothing planned.”

“Would you care to play a game of chess?” He tried to say it nonchalantly, unaware that he was holding his breath.

Kirk glanced over at the empty chess table, still in a state of mild shock. “Well, I’m afraid I’m pretty rusty.”

Spock gripped his glass, waiting for the polite apology and the hurried exit. It was more than he deserved. Then, to his utter relief, Kirk continued. “But if you think you can put up with me, I’d be pleased to try.”

A weekly chess game became a regular part of their routine from that evening on. After a while, the actual game became little more than a pretext for sharing a few hours of quiet conversation. Occasionally, when their schedules permitted, they would take their meal periods together, or join each other in the gym for a workout. A fragile bond of friendship began to grow and both men nourished it carefully, although neither felt confident enough to acknowledge it openly.

“Having dinner with the Captain again?” Gary Mitchell asked bitterly a few weeks later.

With a self-conscious shrug, Kirk turned back to him. “Well, yes. I hope you don’t mind. I know we usually—”

“Hell, no, go ahead,” snapped Mitchell. “I’m getting used to eating alone.” He had meant to sound angry, but a note of self-pity crept into his voice.

“C’mon, Gar, don’t make me feel lousy about it. Tomorrow, for sure. Maybe we can stop by the gym, too . . . or get into that poker game in engineering—damn, I forgot. The Captain wanted to go over the phaser systems modification . . .”

“Yeah, figures. And the next night is your chess game. Guess I’ll have to get another stripe on my sleeve before you can manage to fit me into your busy social calendar.”

They stopped talking as the navigator and communications officer passed them in the corridor. They were in front of Kirk’s door and he pressed the lock release. The door hissed open. He stood in the doorway awkwardly, knowing Spock would be waiting for him in the rec room, but not wanting to be abrupt with Gary and make him feel worse. “Listen, I’m sorry we haven’t been able to spend as much time together lately,” he said lamely, only half sincere but hoping it didn’t show in his eyes.

“You mean it?” Gary knew him too well.

Kirk sucked in a breath. “Sure.”

“Okay.” He glanced down the deserted corridor, then looked back at Kirk. “We’re going to get a little free time during the stopover on Dybele next week. Remember the last time we were there, when we were with the _Farragut_?”

“I remember,” Kirk answered quietly, his gaze darting away into his quarters.

“Then meet me in the glade . . . like before.”

Kirk’s hand was resting against the doorframe and Mitchell covered it with his own, squeezing lightly. Seconds went by. “What’s wrong, Jim? Can’t spare the time?”

The poignancy in the question, poorly masked by sarcasm, made Kirk’s head swing back to meet Mitchell’s open look. He’d been neglecting Gary and he knew it. His newfound friendship with Spock was becoming more and more important to him every day. He couldn’t help it, but it was wrong to forget Gary in the process. And he couldn’t help being caught in the middle. Well at least he could try and be fair to Gary. He owed it to him. “Of course I can spare the time . . . as long as you don’t keep me waiting. You’re always late for everything.” Kirk smiled a little and was rewarded by a delighted grin from Gary.

“Not for that, I’m not.”

* * *

Cybele was a richly fertile planet much like Earth. The Federation had high hopes of developing it into the major food supplier for its sector. Colonization was limited strictly to agriculturists. Over one-third of its land surface had already been converted into working farm acreage. It was a flourishing planet without pestilence, without conflict. The Federation pointed at it with pride and went to no small effort to safeguard it. Aside from the regular flow of agri-transports, Cybele was visited by few other ships except for the normal Starfleet patrols.

Spock frowned slightly as he flicked off the comscreen. He would be tied up with the agri-director for several hours discussing the additional computer requirements for the colony’s continuing expansion. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at the tri-level chess board in the alcove of his quarters. It reminded him of how close he had come to asking Jim to his cabin for their weekly game. At the last moment, he had thought better of it. Everything was going so well and he didn’t want Jim to think he was pushing him into a closer relationship. Spock almost smiled. It was like walking along the edge of a cliff, trying to maintain the delicate balance between friendship and intimacy, and lately he was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to just let himself fall—to come out and admit his true feelings for Jim and hope that, by some wild, illogical chance, those feelings would be returned. It was possible, the Vulcan had told himself. He was almost positive that Jim looked forward to the time they spent together; it showed on his face. For his own part, Spock cherished every single minute. The hours with Jim were the very center of his life.

He made up his mind. After his conference with the settlement’s director, he would locate Jim and tell him.

On his order, most of the crew, including Kirk, had beamed down to Cybele for a day’s R & R. Although there were no formal shore leave facilities, a wooded section near the main colony that included a sprawling, rustic lodge had been made available to off-duty Starfleet personnel. There were hiking trails and lakes and meadows that rolled through stands of towering trees. The fresh air, warm climate, and wide-open freedom was a welcome change from the confinement of a starship.

The meeting took longer than Spock had expected, but at last he finally had the rest of the day to himself. The majority of the crewmembers were gathered around the lodge, picnicking on the grassy slopes, swimming in the small, mineral pools that dotted the area, or breaking off into groups to enjoy rambling, athletic games. It was difficult to hide his disappointment when he realized that Jim was not among them. After a little checking, he learned that Kirk had declined to join in the activities, preferring to hike up to one of the picturesque waterfalls nestled in the foothills. It wasn’t an easy climb and a couple of the security guards had good-naturedly chided their senior officer about it, saying he was crazy to waste all that energy just to look at some running water. Kirk had shrugged them off with a smile.

The Vulcan shook his head and gazed out toward the hills. It was going to be a long walk—but at least it ensured privacy.

There was really only one manageable trail leading to the Veil. Spock was grateful for that because the grainy, shifting texture of the soil made tracking impractical; footprints smeared away almost immediately. Marking off a brisk pace, he reached the waterfall in good time.

The Veil cascaded in a smooth, thin film over the face of a wide, moss-covered rock wall, fluttering slightly in the warm breeze, spreading out a mist around the base, and creating dancing rainbows in the sunlight. Looking at the sheet of water undulating against the hush of wind, Spock could understand how it came by its name, and why Jim had thought it worth the climb. The lake at the base of the fall was not large, but it was clear and clean. Spock assumed that most of the water was drawn deep underground, probably surfacing in any number of small pools all through the surrounding hills.

Kirk was nowhere in sight. Smothering a growing sense of apprehension, Spock began scouting the area. He found three narrow footpaths. One simply led around the pond and behind the waterfall and back out again. The other two led off into the trees and bushes on either side. Jim must have taken one of them. The Vulcan didn’t want to admit the possibility that he might not find Kirk here at all.

With every step of the climb to the Veil, Spock had rehearsed what he would say to Jim. The phrases had been discarded one by one as he sought some way of verbalizing the depth of his feeling for this one, special man. He hoped the words would come when he found him. Somehow he was sure they would.

The second footpath weaved upward into steeper, rocky terrain, finally disappearing into a dense growth of twisted vines and fallen, decaying trunks. He walked back to the Veil and took the other path. After a dozen meters, it began widening, looping into a gentle downward slope. The sunshine filtered through the web of exotic plants and tall trees, dappling them with moving specks of light. The fresh, piney scent of the heavy foliage filled his nostrils. He decided it was a most fitting place to speak of emotion.

At last he glimpsed in the distance a glade and part of a pool, its surface shimmering silver blue in the sun. Spock quickened his pace, silently working his way toward it. Soon he stopped in the shadow of a large, flowering tree. Through its thick, violet petals, he heard the sound of Jim’s warm laughter, like a familiar song drifting on the heated breeze. It seemed to float through the air straight into his soul. He pulled back a thick branch and saw Jim standing by the edge of the pool, his body clothed only in sunlight, water beading over his burnished skin, his fair hair damp and boyishly tousled. For a moment the Human froze, his face raised to the sky as if in praise, arms spread in a luxurious stretch.

The Vulcan drank in the sight with hungry eyes, his mind suddenly flooded with memories of another time—images of Jim lying beneath him, soft laughter bubbling in his throat, playfully teasing Spock’s mounting desire . . . Spock wanted to call out to him, rush to his side, tell him how much he loved him—how he had loved him in two lifetimes—but something, some old unbending instinct held him back, rooted him where he stood; and he continued to watch the beloved form, afraid that any movement would somehow break the spell and banish the sight before him. Another minute, he told himself. He would wait one more minute before revealing himself.

Kirk looked down at the glimmering, crystal blue water with a delighted grin. He waded in and plunged, swimming with smooth, graceful strokes toward the opposite shore. When he emerged, he shook himself like a happy puppy, chuckling as he brushed wet hair from his forehead. It was only then Spock realized that Jim was looking at someone. The Vulcan shifted slightly to see past the thicket of shrubs that blocked his view.

A man who had been lying on the mossy bank got up, retrieving a towel as he stood. It was Gary Mitchell.

Gary held out the towel as Jim scrambled toward him, placing it around the dripping shoulders, drawing him into a tight embrace against his own nude body. Their mouths met in a long, searching kiss.

Spock felt overwhelmingly sick. He shut his eyes, a torrent of emotion sweeping over him like a tide. They were lovers. Gary and . . . Jim. The truth hit him like a physical blow. He had expected women in Kirk’s life, and somehow he could have accepted that, but not . . . Immediately, a part of him refused to believe the evidence of his own eyes. He forced himself to look again, hoping desperately that he had been mistaken.

Gary was languidly rubbing the towel across Jim’s back and arms. They were smiling at each other. Jim’s smile . . .

The towel descended slowly over the slim hips and the firm, curving buttocks as Gary lowered himself to his knees. The wet towel slipped unnoticed from his hands, falling around Jim’s ankles. With a tender movement, Gary took Jim’s partially erect organ in his mouth, his lips sucking deeply while his hands kneaded the round ass in rhythm to the stroking motions of his mouth and tongue. Jim moaned and tangled his fingers in Gary’s hair, urging him on, his body swaying back and forth sensually, his head tossed back in abandon.

Spock wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t move. He stood frozen to the spot, an unwilling and tortured witness.

With practiced skill, Gary pulled Kirk down onto the soft, mossy ground, smoothly manipulating their bodies until he was on top, his rigid penis over Jim’s face. Jim took it without hesitation, licking in lingeringly, his hands caressing the muscular thighs, massaging the heaving testicles.

Spock could hear their groans of pleasure and he realized how much he hated Mitchell. In that instant, he even thought he hated Jim. He felt illogically betrayed, the feeling magnified by an unreasoning jealousy. The hurt was more than he’d imagined possible. Yet it was also compounded by a new feeling of guilt. It was so clear. His obstinate desire to satisfy his own selfish needs had set off a chain of events that had destroyed Jim’s life—and ultimately had driven him to Gary. He watched as their bodies convulsed in a shuddering orgasm, watched as Gary gathered Jim protectively into the circle of his arms, nuzzling against the strong curve of his neck.

Spock felt as though his mind and heart would explode. He was trembling violently. Forcing sensation into his paralyzed legs, he turned and ran.

In the secluded glade by the sunlit pool, the lovers were oblivious of the faint sound of someone hurrying away.

“Are you happy, baby?” whispered Gary, tracing the line of Jim’s cheekbone with a finger, down to the slightly parted lips.

“Yes.”

His hands moved to touch the closed eyelids, feeling the long, silky lashes tickle his fingertip. “God, I love you. Sometimes it frightens me how much,” he confessed, the words carrying an undefined urgency.

Jim opened his eyes, catching the tone. It always made him uneasy to hear Gary talk that way. It was so much simpler to meet his friend’s physical demands than his emotional ones. Since there was nothing he could say, he reached up and gently stroked the dark, chestnut hair, hoping the gesture would convey what his heart could not. He got up on one elbow, pushing Gary onto his back, and smiled.

“You’re a real good-looking guy, you know that?” he teased, trying to recapture a lighter mood.

“Flattery. Just trying to change the subject,” Gary scoffed, taking his cue.

“No, you are definitely a fine specimen, Commander Mitchell.”

“But I’m not beautiful like you.”

Jim grimaced and lay back on the grass, his shoulder pressed against Gary’s.

“You don’t like it when people—I know I’m not the only one—call you beautiful, do you?”

“‘Handsome’ is preferred, sir,” intoned Kirk.

“Well, you’re that, too. You’re one of the rare few who can genuinely be called both depending on what mood you’re in at the moment, of course. Right now, you’re beautiful.”

Jim snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

He felt Gary’s hand stroking his thigh, slipping between his legs to fondle his balls, the fingers traveling lower to settle between his cheeks.

“Pretty horny, aren’t you?” joked Kirk, feeling his penis begin to stir at the stimulation.

“I like putting my fingers inside you . . . it’s almost as exciting as having my cock in you. Do you like it, baby?”

“The answer’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

“Say you like having my cock inside you,” murmured Gary against his ear, the fingers probing deeper. “I want to hear it.”

Jim sighed. He hadn’t really wanted any more sex. Just lying peacefully in the sun next to his friend, talking quietly, was enough for him. It was never enough for Gary. “You know I do,” he acquiesced.

“Say it,” persisted his lover.

“I . . . I like feeling you inside me,” managed Jim.

“But you prefer it when I suck you, don’t you?” There was a curious seriousness in the question.

“For god’s sake, Gary,” he muttered, squirming under the increasing pressure. He bent his legs, forcing himself to relax.

“Admit it.”

“All right, yes, I like it better when we suck each other. It . . . it makes me feel like we’re both giving and taking, sharing equally.”

The fingers abruptly withdrew. “Reminds you of the first time . . . with Spock?”

The words seemed to drive away the sun.

“That must have been the way you did it then, right?” Mitchell insisted. “At least I was the first to screw you, not him. Wasn’t I?”

“Why are you bringing him into this?” There was an unmistakable edge in Kirk’s voice.

“You must think about him—how could you avoid it? You’re with him practically every day—a walking, breathing memory.” Instinct told Gary he shouldn’t have mentioned the Vulcan, but he couldn’t resist. The Captain had been the object of his own thoughts far too often lately.

“Stop it, Gar.” Kirk sat up and huddled his knees. “Why can’t you leave it alone? That part of it was over a very long time ago. What the hell do you want me to say?” He was angry and overreacting, he knew, but he was tired of coping with Gary’s insecurities about Spock, especially since he was having enough trouble sorting out his own.

Gary instantly regretted his outburst, knowing he was spoiling the afternoon for both of them with his jealousy. “I’m a damn fool. Please, baby, don’t be angry with me. I . . . guess I’m too selfish to share you, even with a memory.”

He patted Jim’s back tentatively, aware of the tensed muscles. Dropping his arm to his lover’s waist, he tried to pull him back, but met with firm resistance.

“I’m sorry. I won’t mention him again.”

Kirk still didn’t move.

“Dammit, Jim, I said I’m sorry . . . “ There was an odd tremor in Mitchell’s voice.

A long silence passed and Kirk felt the arm move defeatedly away.

There was a stifled sound from Gary, and Kirk finally turned back to him.

To his amazement, there was a sheen of tears in the brown eyes. “Hey, Gar, it’s all right.” Kirk wound his arms around him. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just don’t push so much, okay?”

“I love you so much, Jim,” whispered Gary hoarsely, clutching at the body in his arms. “I don’t want to lose you again. I won’t. I love you.”

“I know, I know,” Kirk murmured soothingly, despairing because he couldn’t return the measure of emotion Gary offered.

They remained like that, on their knees, holding each other tightly, for a long time. Finally, Mitchell spoke. “I wanted today to be special, like it was the last time we were here. But I guess you can’t hold on to the past, not even a piece of it, no matter how much you want to. I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?” The veneer of self-assurance was gone and the bitter sadness in the words tore at Kirk’s heart.

“No.” He stroked the wide back tenderly. “I wanted today to be special, too. It still can be.” He pulled away so they could face each other. Gary’s eyes still glistened with tears. “Remember how you used to call this place our hideout?” He raised Mitchell’s face gently with his palm. “No brass to give us orders, no rules to worry about, no . . . complications. No one else. Our own private little world.” He let his gaze wander around the jade-tinted landscape before turning back to the bright, earth-brown eyes. “Here, it’s still just you and me, Gary.”

Mitchell shook his head weakly. “Not like before.”

Cool fingers closed over his lips, silencing him. “Then let’s just make the most of now, and forget the past and everything else. What do you say, Gary?” He locked hands gently behind the taller man’s neck.

Gary hesitated, moist eyes searching the sky for a moment as if to find some answer there. How could he make Jim see that it wasn’t just today that he wanted? Wordlessly, he looked down at Jim’s face, and kissed him hard.

* * *

Kirk sensed something was wrong right after he and Gary beamed back aboard the _Phoenix_ with the rest of the shore leave party. He called Spock on the intercom to tell him he was back and received a cold brush-off. Later, when he chanced to see him in the corridor and tried to tell him about some unusual plants he had found in the glade, the Vulcan didn’t even seem to listen. In fact, it was as if he was staring right through him.

When Spock didn’t show up in the rec room for their usual game of chess that evening, Kirk became concerned and annoyed. It wasn’t like Spock to keep him waiting, and if he had something else to do, he could have simply told him. The marked change in Spock’s behavior made him very uneasy. It didn’t make sense for him to back away when they were becoming closer.

The next morning, he sat in the dining hall, absently picking at his uneaten meal with his fork.

“How about a workout in the gym tonight?” The First Officer pulled out a chair and plopped down at his table.

The sandy head remained lowered. Mitchell swallowed the last of his coffee and put his cup down with a deliberate thud. Still no reaction. He knocked on the tabletop with his knuckles. “Hey, anybody there?”

Jarred from his reverie at last, Kirk looked up. His eyes were dark, almost gray, and there were light circles under his eyes. He’d had a bad night.

“Hmm, oh, sorry, what did you say?”

“You haven’t eaten any of your breakfast.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Looks like you didn’t get any sleep, either.”

Kirk only shrugged.

“Would you like to work out in the gym after shift?”

“If you don’t mind, Gary, I’m really not in the mood—”

Mitchell started to argue when he noticed Kirk’s eyes shifting beyond him towards the door. The First Officer swiveled in his chair. Of course, Spock. The dark, solemn gaze flickered over them for only a moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Mitchell . . . Mr. Kirk,” he said tonelessly.

“Mornin,’ Captain,” returned Mitchell drily, but Spock had already passed their table, and was standing in front of one of the food processors. He retrieved a glass of pale, green liquid and then quickly left the room, this time without a glance in their direction.

Kirk’s eyes followed the Vulcan faithfully until the tall figure was out of sight.

“Snap out of it, Jim,” commanded Mitchell in an irritated whisper.

The sandy head bowed again as he shoved his plate to one side with his forearm. Mitchell reached over and grabbed his wrist, shaking it.

“Will you stop this?”

Kirk stared at him, his face naked.

“Dammit, Jim, why are you letting him get to you?”

Except for a few engineering and med techs who were obliviously wolfing down their food on the opposite side of the room, the two officers were alone. Mitchell’s hand trailed up and squeezed his shoulder, but Kirk shook it off. Leaning back in his chair, Mitchell threw up his hands. “I would think you’d be used to it by now.”

Kirk blinked, confused.

Gary shook his head. “I’m talking about Spock. This isn’t the first time he’s brushed you off. He doesn’t care any more about you now than he did seventeen years ago. And to think I was worried. Why should you care about someone who doesn’t give a damn about you?” He hunched forward, elbows propped on the table. “Jim, I don’t want to see him messing up your life again. He’s not worth it.”

The smooth jaw tightened and Kirk looked away. His face grew thoughtful and when he spoke it was more to himself than to his companion. “There’s got to be a reason,” he murmured. “He owes me that much.”

Mitchell let out a long, exasperated sigh. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

A handful of crewmen were beginning to file into the dining hall. Kirk rose, threw his shoulders back, and headed for the exit. There was a strange look of determination on his face that sent a shiver of apprehension down Mitchell’s back.

That night, after shift, the expression was still on Kirk’s face. For the first time, he went to Spock’s quarters without an invitation and pressed the door signal.

“Come.”

Spock rose from behind his desk as Kirk entered. “Is there something you wanted, Lieutenant?” he inquired coolly.

Irritated, Kirk snapped, “It’d be nice to know why you stood me up yesterday . . . _sir_.” He emphasized the last word, angry at the Vulcan’s sudden formality. They had been calling each other Jim and Spock for weeks; now it seemed they were back to the old rules.

Spock regarded him blankly. “I decided we both had more important things to do than . . . play games.”

Kirk caught the implied double meaning in the words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought we were friends. I thought—” Kirk paused at the glimmer of emotion that crossed the lean face. “Was I wrong?”

Spock turned away, picking up a tape on the desk and studying it absently. “You have . . . other friends. I am sure you would prefer to spend your free time with them.”

Kirk stared at the tense back, puzzled. He sensed a rigid control in the form, a deep anger, but he wasn’t certain if it was directed at him.

Kirk spread his hands helplessly, feeling at a loss. “I don’t understand. Did I do something to offend you? If you would just tell me, maybe I could explain or—”

Spock swung around, his face suddenly dark. “There is nothing to explain. Dismissed.”

Kirk held his ground bravely. “No. Not until I get an answer. What’s this all about?”

“You’d better go. I’m sure your friend is waiting.”

“Friend?” Kirk repeated blankly. “Do you mean Gary?” His confusion cleared abruptly. “You followed us to the glade yesterday,” he said slowly, finally comprehending Spock’s attitude.

“I followed you. I did not know he was with you.” A flush of green tinged Spock’s face. “I did not intend to intrude on your privacy. I . . . apologize for that.”

Kirk stared at the floor, wondering what he could say. “So you know. I’m glad. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. It just didn’t seem important and . . . well, it’s not something you can just discuss casually over a chessboard.” He looked up to catch Spock’s eyes. “Does it make that much of a difference to you?”

The dark eyes closed for a second. “Why, Jim?” he said bleakly, “Why?”

Kirk suddenly felt defensive. “What kind of question is that? It’s nothing to do with you, anyway. We keep our personal feelings separate from our jobs. Gary is very careful about that, and so am I. It doesn’t affect our work, so . . . “ He trailed off at the look in the Vulcan’s eyes; they were filled with regret and something else Kirk couldn’t identify yet. “Surely,” Kirk began again, “you, of all people, aren’t prejudiced against this kind of relationship.”

Spock almost flinched. “. . . of all people,” he repeated absently. “Indeed.” He looked defeated for a moment. Realizing he still held the tape, he tossed it back on the desk. The case was crushed from the pressure of his hands.

Kirk took a step forward. “Spock . . . I didn’t mean—”

“Why Gary Mitchell?” Spock broke in suddenly.

The question startled him. “He loves me,” Kirk blurted out.

“And do you love him?” Spock asked bluntly.

Even more surprised, Kirk fumbled, “I . . . yes, but not as much as I—” He broke off, horrified by what he had almost said. _. . . as much as I love you_ , Kirk finished the thought in silent shock. It was true. The last piece in the puzzle of his life fell into place. He loved Spock and he probably had all of his adult life—as much as it was possible to love a memory. Now he was faced with the reality, and it was far more than a vague wish, but a solid, tangible person.

Before Kirk could gather his scattered thoughts together, Spock had moved toward him and was standing very close. Jim could feel the heat of the other body.

“Jim, I have wronged you so much. I have no right to ask anything. No right to question your life. Forgive me.”

The wide eyes looked at the Vulcan uncertainly. He could read the guilt on the sad face. He couldn’t understand it, but he couldn’t bear to see it. “No . . . there’s nothing to forgive,” he whispered softly. His arms moved hesitantly around the Vulcan’s waist.

Spock’s hand touched Kirk’s cheek before bending his head to touch Kirk’s mouth with his own. The kiss was very light, but they both backed away immediately, struck by the impact of the tender gesture.

“I’d . . . I’d better go,” Kirk said shakily. Spock nodded.

Kirk left hurriedly, feeling foolish for running away, but too confused to do anything else. He needed time to think, to sort everything out. The truth of what he felt for Spock had hit him too quickly to absorb.

He was barely out of Spock’s cabin when he ran, literally, into Gary Mitchell.

“Watch it, Jim! What’s the big hurry?” His gaze swept past Kirk to the nameplate on the door a few meters away. His expression hardened. “I was looking for you, but I didn’t figure you’d be here. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he replied, flushed. Gary was the last person he was ready to talk to at the moment. “Nothing at all.”

“Who do you think you’re kidding? Something went on in there. What? Did he try—”

“Mind your own business for once!” Kirk snapped before he could bite it back.

The curious looks of passing crewmen kept Mitchell from answering before Kirk strode away. Hurt, Mitchell didn’t try to follow him. He turned back to the nameplate on the wall, feeling the urge to rip it off and break the plastic into a thousand pieces.

* * *

The next day was a quiet one. The ship was enroute to a distant scientific outpost called Circe III, where they were to assist the researchers in dismantling and transporting their equipment back to Starbase Six, as their task there was completed. The next few days of travel would probably be uneventful, and the crew relaxed accordingly.

Three men on the vessel were far from relaxed, however. Kirk and Spock were so caught up in their own dilemma, they were totally oblivious of the turmoil of the third.

After spending an aching, sleepless night, Gary Mitchell had decided on a course of action. He didn’t intend to let Kirk go on tearing himself up over Spock any longer. If Jim wouldn’t listen to him, he would make certain the Vulcan did.

At the end of the shift, he located Spock alone in the bio lab, where he had been most of the day, running tests on an unusual bacteria culture. As the lab was deserted except for Spock, and likely to remain that way for an hour or so, Mitchell decided this was as good a place as any to confront him.

“I want to talk to you.”

Spock looked up at Mitchell coldly. “Unless it is pertaining to the ship, I—”

Mitchell cut him off. “Let’s forget the ship for now, and our rank. I don’t fancy the idea of getting thrown in the brig for insubordination. Agreed?”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. Proceed.”

“I’ve got a few things to say to you, personally, and you’re going to hear them.”

Spock stood, the ice in his eyes enough to back off most men. Mitchell held his ground. “I am listening,” Spock said, his voice quiet but hard.

“You stay away from Jim. I’m not about to stand by and let you hurt him again. Once was enough.” He caught the flicker of surprise in the Vulcan’s eyes. “Yeah, I know what happened. He told me.”

“He...told you?” Spock repeated in disbelief.

“That bothers you, doesn’t it? You thought he’d keep it to himself forever. I can see why you thought that, knowing Jim. But there’s a breaking point even for someone like him, when he had to let it out to someone or it would have eaten him up inside. It did anyway, in a lot of ways.”

“I have no interest in continuing this conversation, Mr. Mitchell. If you will excuse me—”

Gary grabbed Spock’s arm and jerked him around. “You _are_ going to listen! Or are you afraid to hear what Jim went through because of you? You don’t know everything, even though you think you do.”

Spock looked down at the hand on his arm, suppressing the urge to break it. He dared not release even a measure of the fury and jealousy that coursed through him, or he would surely kill Gary Mitchell. He took a deep breath and pulled away from the grip.

“Continue, then,” Spock said, keeping his voice level. “Tell me what it is you think I do not know.”

Mitchell straightened, a little startled that the Vulcan was willing to hear him out. “For one thing, do you have any idea how Jim was treated at the Academy after it was spread around that he was homosexual?”

“But he is not—” Spock spoke up quickly, but broke off in mid-sentence. He was thinking of a different Kirk in a different time. What did he really know of this one, now that his life had been so drastically altered at such a young age? The only real fact he knew was that Mitchell and Kirk were lovers, and had been for a very long time from the sound of it. And that he was ultimately responsible if Jim was homosexual in this time.

“You were starting to say that Jim isn’t gay, weren’t you? I really don’t know if he is, in the same sense I am. I don’t think it’s ever been that simple with him. Oh, he’s always had his fair share of women—but then, so have I, so that doesn’t mean much. It’s mainly just for show, or an occasional change of pace with me. But I don’t believe he’s ever been with another man willingly except me—and you. To him love is love, and he’s never been afraid of giving what the other person needs from him.”

Having no wish to discuss the topic of Jim’s love with Mitchell, Spock returned to the subject. “You were telling me Jim had difficulties at the Academy. How did the fact of his supposed . . . sexual preferences become public knowledge?”

“You remember the confidential files they have on each cadet? Parts of them are references from friends, teachers, relatives. Well, you can imagine the reference Jim’s mother gave them. That bitch would’ve done anything to keep him out of the Academy, even ruin his reputation. She told them everything about you and Jim and probably fabricated a little more. Of course, that couldn’t keep him out of the Academy, and it might not have affected his chances that much—until it came to selecting command personnel. There are bigots everywhere, but I think ‘Fleet Command and has than its quota. Half of them still have 21st Century morality and the other half are so busy hiding their own quirks, they certainly didn’t stick their necks out for some poor bastard trying to make his way up through the ranks. To their way of thinking, there are too few real positions of power—like starship captain—so it doesn’t make sense to give one to a queer. It’s still considered a weakness, and to hell with all their fine sounding laws about equality and diversity. That’s why I keep such a low profile. I know how to play their game. Jim’s too honest; that’s always been his big problem.”

“But, if the reports are confidential...?” Spock asked, puzzled.

Mitchell snorted. “They’re supposed to be, but the ‘irregularities’ always manage to leak out. Once the rumor started about Jim, his life was hell.” Mitchell shook his head sadly. “You were in the science section—you have no idea what it’s like in command. It’s like starving cats trying to eat each other up. Only so many make it, and everyone knows it. You have to be that much smarter, or quicker, or more normal than the next cadet. At that stage of the game, conformity is the cardinal rule. And, if you can’t do that—if you’re not smarter or more talented—then you cut out the competition some other way. So they cut Jim out. He was the best, and they all knew it. So did I.”

Mitchell looked thoughtful, almost pensive. “I was as bad as any of them—worse maybe. I was ambitious, and I wanted him out as much as anybody, so be wouldn’t be in my way.” He glanced at Spock. “But I also . . . wanted him. God, he was gorgeous. He was small, but he was a tough little guy. He had an innocence about him that drove me crazy—like nothing bad or dirty had ever touched him. Sure, I knew he’d been on Tarsus and had probably had to face more horror than I could imagine, but somehow he’d still come out of it with that special—”

Noticing the Vulcan’s clenched jaw, Mitchell stopped. Obviously he, of all people, didn’t need to have Jim Kirk described to him. And didn’t much care for Mitchell doing it. “Anyway, when the rumors began, Jim ignored them. He didn’t deny them, he simply wouldn’t respond. He was always kind of quiet and serious, but after this started, he was even worse. To the others it was like an admission of guilt, but Jim didn’t give a damn. He just hung on. I suppose there was nothing else he could do; it’s impossible to fight that kind of thing—people want to believe it too much. His looks didn’t help either—be was almost too pretty—” Again Mitchell broke off and looked at Spock. “Well, you know. In any case, he couldn’t win any way he went. But he tried just the same. I remember there was one guy, an upper classman named Finnegan who was especially vicious. I think he must have made a pass at Jim and got a fat lip for his trouble, because there was no real reason for him to be so hard on Jim, except for some kind of revenge. He became some king of ring-leader for a lot of the others. And then one night I went to the gym to work out by myself. It was late, and I didn’t think anyone else would be there. I was wrong.” He paused for a long moment, and Spock shifted with impatience.

At last Mitchell continued, his voice hard. “They had beaten him half to death.”

Spock stiffened. “Jim?”

Gary continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I could have been one of them as easy as not. It just happened I wasn’t there to catch the hanging fever the rest of them had. Jim was never sure how many of them there had been, but at least five, maybe more. They’d broken his nose, cracked four of his ribs, broke his arm . . . it looked like someone had nearly crushed Jim’s hand with his boot . . . “ Gary trailed off.

“But why?” Spock said hoarsely. “Why?”

Mitchell glared at him. “Isn’t it obvious? They couldn’t get to him any other way. He was a rock they couldn’t chip away; they had to hit him with a jackhammer. I don’t think it was planned, it just happened. He was too cool, too self-sufficient, and they couldn’t stand that. Like I said, I might have been one of them, if I’d been there. There’s a stubbornness about him that makes you want to—” He took a deep breath. “All I know is that I saw the result. Christ, he was still just a kid really; he entered the Academy so young, and they . . . He looked just like a little kid lying there—” He choked on the memory. “I . . . I tried to go for help, but he stopped me. He didn’t want to be alone. It didn’t make sense then, with him so hurt, but after a while I understood what was happening to him. He was broken—really broken—and I don’t think it was anything physical they did to him. Maybe it had been building for a long time, and this just came when he simply didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore. Something inside him was giving up, changing, and he didn’t want to be alone while it was happening. He was scared. I don’t think he even cared about the pain that much; he was just terrified of what he was feeling inside. I held on to him for a long time while he cried. God, he cried. I’ve never seen him cry since. I’m not even sure if he can anymore. He must have let it all out then. A lifetime’s worth. And that’s when, he told me everything—about you—about everything. What he was feeling. The defeat . . . the unworthiness. Not because of what he did with you, but because he couldn’t deal with any of it any more. He’d been in love with a girl at the Academy—or thought he had. Ruth was her name, I think. When she heard the rumors, she dropped him like a stone. It was just one more thing added to make him feel unwanted. He simply couldn’t fight any of it anymore. Whatever jealousy I’d felt before died right there, I just wanted to take care of him, make sure he wasn’t hurt again.”

Mitchell took a step closer to, Vulcan, his fist still clenched with the emotion of the moment. “That’s why I want you to leave him alone. You were the cause of all that. They wouldn’t have had anything to use against him if it hadn’t been for you— Haven’t you done enough? He could have been captain of a starship, like the one you came from, if it wasn’t for you!”

Spock didn’t answer. It was far more true than Mitchell realized. He felt sick with the guilt of it, aching for what Jim had gone through. But when he met the Human’s eyes, his jealousy surfaced again.

“What makes you believe you are so much better for him?” Spock demanded coldly.

“Because he’s loved me, and he belongs with me, not you. And . . . I’ll kill you if you try to hurt him again.”

Before Spock could answer, there was an almost inaudible gasp from the doorway. They both turned. Kirk was standing there, the shift-end report in his hand, his face very white.

“Have you settled whose property I am?” Kirk said in a strained voice. “You both have a hell of a lot of nerve. I’ve had about all of this I’m going to take. I’m sick of both of you.”

“Jim, I. was just—”

“Shut up, Gary. Didn’t I want you to stay out of this? I don’t need your protection! For god’s sake, face up to that!. You’ve always treated me as if I were helpless, and you were my big brother, father, and lover combined. I admit, it might have started out like that, but I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. You’ve never been able to accept that.” He regarded Mitchell scornfully. “Did you ever consider that I went along with your patronizing because you needed it more than me?”

Gary started to speak, but Kirk ignored him and turned to the Vulcan.

“And you, Spock, you’re as bad as he is. For some strange reason, you’re convinced you ruined my life. How do you know it would’ve been any different if I hadn’t met you?”

“It would have been . . . different,” Spock answered slowly, with a conviction he would never be able to explain.

“So you take the responsibility for my life on your shoulders? Bullshit. That’s the most egotistical thing I’ve ever heard. I make my own decisions, Spock, and I’ve made my own mistakes. Why can’t you see that? God, the way you’ve both been talking, you sound like I ended up in a penal colony or something. Just how the hell did you expect my life to turn out? Head of Starfleet command? The hell with both of you! I can’t be what either of you want me to be. I don’t even think you know who I really am.”

He tossed the report on the desk with a look of disgust, turned on his heel and left. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Spock stared at Mitchell coldly. “I don’t think either of us has anything more to say. Get out.”

Mitchell hesitated, wanting to end this confrontation on a more threatening note, something to make certain Spock kept his distance from Jim, but Kirk’s unexpected appearance had made anything he’d planned to say seem slightly ridiculous. He glared at the Vulcan. “As long as you know where you stand now.”

“I think we both know where we stand,” Spock answered flatly.

Unable to respond to that, Mitchell turned and left. His one thought was to go to Jim and get things straightened out. All he had to do was talk to Jim, make him understand that he’d only been thinking of his welfare. Jim’s anger was usually like a flash fire, over as quickly as it flared.

Mitchell knew it would be wiser to wait until morning and give Jim time to cool off, but he wanted to see him now. There was also an anger of his own, scalding him slowly with embarrassment at the things Jim had said to him in front of the Vulcan. With a strange mixture of contrition and fury, he went to Kirk’s quarters. As usual, Kirk hadn’t bothered to lock the door, and Mitchell went in without pausing.

Kirk was lying on the bed, dressed only in a robe, his uniform tossed carelessly across a chair. He didn’t get up at Mitchell’s entrance. He didn’t even look at him but turned on his side, facing the wall. “Go away, Gary,” he said tiredly.

Mitchell felt a surge of tenderness at the way Kirk’s body was curled; it had a lonely look. He sat down on the bed and ran his hand across Kirk’s shoulder. “Jim . . .”

Kirk rolled over and jumped up. “Damn it, can’t you let me alone for a minute!”

Mitchell flushed angrily, standing to face him. “So you can think about him?”

“I don’t want to think about either of you,” Kirk snapped. “I want you to leave me the hell alone. Is that too much to ask?”

“You don’t mean that.”

Kirk laughed harshly. “Don’t I? I meant every word I said in there.’

“You had no right to talk to me like that—especially with him listening.”

“If we’re talking about rights, who the fuck gave you the right to talk to Spock at all?”

Seeing the hard, unyielding light in Kirk’s eyes, Mitchell decided to try a different tactic. His expression softened. “All right, Jim, I admit I shouldn’t have talked to Spock without telling you, but I couldn’t stand by and watch you fall into the same trap. He hurt you once—no matter what you say now. I’m just worried for you. I love you, baby.” The endearment was a test, and Kirk reacted to it, but not in the way Gary wanted.

Kirk spun around. “Do you? Or are you just using me to give yourself a stronger image? Have you ever thought of that?”

Gary flushed hotly before retorting, “You want to talk about using people, what do you think you’ve been doing with me? You left for over a year, telling me you really didn’t want that kind of relationship with me anymore, then when I see you again you treat me like a casual acquaintance—until Spock’s name is mentioned. Then you were back in my bed like a shot. Am I some kind of substitute for him? Or are you just trying to make him jealous?”

“How can you say that?” Kirk said, feeling a twinge of unexplained guilt. “You know you’ve meant more to me than anyone.”

There was an unfinished feeling to the sentence and Gary caught it. “Except him,” he said bitterly, concluding the unspoken thought.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Feeling strangely trapped, Kirk took a step back. “Gary, you’ve always known I never really wanted the same things you did. I can’t help that. But it doesn’t mean you aren’t important to me—”

“Just not as important as Spock.”

“Why do you keep saying that? He’s nothing more than . . . someone I met seventeen years ago.” The words rang false even as he said them, but at that moment he wanted them to be true.

As Mitchell watched his face, noting the averted eyes, his suspicion grew along with the familiar sense of possessiveness. He pulled Kirk against him. “Then prove it. Show me.”

Kirk jerked away, as if Mitchell’s touch burned him. “No, Gary. No more. I don’t want this—”

“No,” Mitchell cut him off in a voice choked with resentment and anger, “it’s just _me_ you don’t want.”

He grabbed Kirk’s arm roughly, throwing him off-balance and flinging him across the bed. “Now I know why you couldn’t forget him,” he accused. “It wasn’t because he almost ruined your life, turned your own mother against you, shattered every dream you ever had about commanding a ship. No, that wasn’t it at all.” He reached out, tearing open Kirk’s robe, raking his body with eyes that mingled fury and lust. “You’ve thought about that Vulcan all these years because you’ve wanted him all these years.”

“You’re wrong,” protested Kirk. “I didn’t know—” A stinging slap threw his head back against the sheets.

“You were always a poor liar, Jim.” There was cool menace in his voice. “Everything they said about you was true. You enjoyed having that alien touch you, fondle that pretty-boy body of yours. He taught you a lot, I bet. And you liked what he did to you, didn’t you- DIDN’T YOU?” It was like something snapped inside him. “You always just tolerated it when I touched you.”

Kirk tried to sit up, but Gary leaned forward and pinned his wrists above his head, pushing his legs apart with his knees.

“Oh god, Gary, don’t do this. I don’t want to fight you. Please let me up. Please.”

“I’ll let you go all right—when I’m finished. Go ahead and fight me if you want. I think I’d enjoy that, too.” He struck Kirk again, this time with his fist. Jim hadn’t been expecting this, and it stunned him for a second—long enough for Mitchell to hurriedly tear off his own clothes.

Kirk groaned as he felt Gary’s weight press down on him. He jerked his head away and felt the hot breath against his throat, teeth biting into his skin, the hard cock rubbing against his inner thigh. He knew he could throw Mitchell off if he tried, but he didn’t even try.

All he could think of was Spock, and those last few moments they were alone together. The tenderness of that kiss. In his rage, Gary had spoken the truth when he said Jim wanted the Vulcan. Even as the angry hands roamed relentlessly over his body, Kirk knew it was true. Yet he couldn’t hurt Gary, maybe for that very reason. So he lay unresisting and passive, and let Gary hurt him instead.

The foreplay was bruising and selfish, Gary aggressively using his body for his own pleasure, unconcerned about the pain he was inflicting, forcing response where none could be freely given. After what seemed an eternity, Kirk felt his legs being lifted and bent towards his chest. Strong hands cupped his buttocks, thumbs wrenching them apart. A moment later, he cried out as the stiff penis plunged into him like a hot knife. Long, ramming thrusts brought Gary quickly to climax and he collapsed across Kirk’s panting body. Their muffled breathing was the only sound in the room.

“I thought you loved me,” Kirk whispered hoarsely, at last.

Gary’s answer was spoken into the pillow, but Kirk heard every agonized word.

“Damn you, Jim. Why do you drive me crazy like this? I love you, I do. But why can’t you love me back?”

“I . . . don’t...know.”

But they both knew the real reason why.

Mitchell rolled over to lay flat on his back, staring up at the grey metal ceiling. “I shouldn’t have been so rough. I’m sorry.”

“I could’ve stopped you if I’d wanted to,” Kirk said dully.

Mitchell ignored the comment. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Jim. That’s the last thing I want. I just had to get him out of your mind . . . I can’t bear to share you. That’s a terrible thing to say . . . it’s even more hell to feel it, but it’s true.”

Kirk took a long breath and let it out slowly. “It’s no good, Gary. As soon as I can arrange it, I’m transferring off.”

Gary stiffened, but didn’t look at him. He said casually, “It might be a good idea if we did get off this ship. It’ll take some wrangling, but we should be able to get positions on—”

“No,” Kirk cut him off sharply. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He turned to his side and looked at Mitchell sadly. “You were right, Gar. I suppose I knew all along, but I was almost as afraid of losing you as of staying like we have been. It was safe, easy, and I didn’t want to hurt you, either. But it has to stop now. It just doesn’t work anymore.”

The dark eyes met Kirk’s entreatingly. “Jim, you don’t mean that. You can’t. I told you I was sorry. I know I was stupidly jealous. That I have to stop being so possessive. I’ve learned my lesson, I swear. Punish me anyway you want, but not this. I said and did those things because I was angry . . . scared maybe. But I know I was wrong; that there’s really nothing going on between you and Spock.”

“But there is.”

Mitchell stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “No . . . I don’t believe it. You love me. You always have.”

“Not the way you want, Gary. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Maybe I was using you for a substitute, like you said. I don’t know. But I can’t lie to you or to myself any longer. I do want him, damnit, and I’m not any happier about it than you are. It hurts because . . . I’m a disappointment to him for some reason. Every time he looks at me, I get the feeling it isn’t even me he’s seeing, but some crazy, impossible image of what he thinks I could’ve been.” Kirk paused, but it was plain Gary didn’t understand what he meant any more than he did. “The point is, I’m not leaving you for him, Gary. I’m just . . . leaving. It’s the only way I can think to settle this whole melodramatic mess.”

Gary was silent for a few moments, considering all the angles. If Jim wasn’t going to the Vulcan, he still had a chance. If not now, then later. After all, Jim had gone his own way before and still come back to him eventually. This was hardly any different. And considering the rough way he’d just treated him, he couldn’t very well expect Jim to fall into his open arms.

“I understand,” he said finally. “You just need some time to think. I’ll let you alone.”

Kirk started to speak, to discourage any false hope, but he shut his mouth without saying anything. There wasn’t any point; Mitchell would believe what he wanted until proven wrong. He stared at the wall while Gary dressed and prepared to leave, fighting back the irrational feeling of guilt at turning him away after so many years.

Mitchell hesitated. “Jim, I . . . Please forgive me for . . . for hurting you.”

Kirk closed his eyes tightly. “I forgive you, Gary. It wasn’t all your fault anyway. Just go now, okay?”

“Goodnight, ba—... Goodnight, Jim.”

“Goodbye , Gary.”

* * *

Kirk didn’t see Spock until the end of his duty shift the next day. He’d had no trouble avoiding Mitchell, who was wise enough to give him the space he needed. It would have been fairly simple to avoid this meeting, too, by sending the report with a yeoman, but he decided he might as well face the Captain in private.

When the door opened to his signal, he found Spock seated at his desk as expected.

“The department report, sir,” Kirk said with far less calm than he was feeling. He could sense the tension in the thin figure, belying the impassive expression. “Nothing unusual. Ling returned to duty, and seems fit. I’d prefer to keep his assignments light for a few weeks.”

Spock took the tape and put it to one side. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I concur with your decision on Ling. It seems logical to be certain of his emotional fitness as well as his physical before making any further demands on him. I’m certain the remainder of the report will be satisfactory. That will be all, Mr. Kirk.”

Kirk turned to leave, but was halted by Spock’s voice.

“That will be all of ship’s business. Now explain to me how you sustained the bruise on your cheek.”

Kirk hesitated. He hadn’t realized it was that apparent. “I would rather not, sir.”

“It was not a request, Lieutenant. How were you injured? I trust the details are in the report?”

The Human’s chin shot up stubbornly. “No, sir. This is personal. It had nothing to do with the ship, and I am not required to answer—”

“It was Mitchell, wasn’t it?” Spock stood abruptly, and moved around the desk. Kirk didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Spock’s jaw clenched in fury. “Assaulting a fellow officer is a court martial offense. I will—”

Kirk caught his arm as the Vulcan started for the door. “No, Spock, please. Don’t.”

The soft note in the Human’s voice turned him around. “What happened, Jim?” he asked sharply.

Kirk shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.” His eyes suddenly lifted to hold Spock’s. “All of it is over . . . between Gary and me.”

Spock held back the surge of relief the words brought to him. There was still pain in the hazel eyes, and he was very afraid he was the cause of it. “I. . . am sorry, Jim. It was not my intention to disrupt your life further.”

The eyes sharpened. “Didn’t you? Then why did you come here?”

Spock’s throat tightened. “I could not . . . help myself. I wanted to be near you.”

“So you _did_ know I was on this ship before you took command? Are you saying I am the reason you accepted it?”

“Yes.”

Kirk pulled back as if struck. He shook his head in disbelief. Spock kept his distance, afraid to move any closer.

“I didn’t know you were . . . involved with someone.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

Spock hesitated. “I don’t know. Perhaps. I had sworn to myself I would not ask anything of you. Not even friendship . . . unless you offered it.”

Kirk turned away from him. “You still haven’t.”

Spock remained silent, not knowing if that was an accusation or a plea. He was too afraid of taking the wrong step. Kirk didn’t move, and the sigh that escaped him was so light Spock barely heard it.

“I can’t let you think what happened between Gary and me was your fault. Not the beginning or the end. I care for him, and that won’t change. It can’t. He’s meant so much to me for so long. But I’ve never been able to love him the way he needs me to. I realized that a long time ago, but it was easier to let it go on. I didn’t want to lose him entirely, but that’s the way it has to be. With Gary, it’s all or nothing. He doesn’t want me if he can’t own me. That’s a bad choice of words, but it’s essentially true. I’ve changed, and he won’t accept that. I can’t bear to be . . . held that way anymore.”

He turned back to look at the Vulcan. “I’d made up my mind to leave, apply for a transfer. It seemed the simplest solution—to get away from both of you. But running away won’t do it. I know that now.” He smiled wryly. “And, oddly enough, I’ve realized my career is more important to me than I thought. I like being in charge, and I’m not going to lose that. If I transferred now, so soon after my assignment, it would look bad on my record. Besides, if I can’t untangle my own emotional problems, I’ve got no business being in charge of anything.”

“I am pleased you are not leaving,” Spock replied softly. “I will try not to make it more difficult for you.”

Kirk laughed. “Oh, Spock, from the minute you stepped on board you didn’t make it difficult, you made it impossible. Corny as it sounds, I just kept thinking, where have you been all my life?”

Kirk stepped forward, eyes shining. “And you don’t have to answer; I already know. You’ve been right inside me all the time. Branded in my memory, and nobody, not even Gary, could take your place. I’ve never forgotten you, Spock.”

Spock felt totally naked, stripped of all illusions and masks under the clear gaze. All his emotional shields were shattered wildly, and he couldn’t find the strength to rebuilt them. He’d never been so terrified in his life.

Retreating lamely, he felt himself leaning against the divider screen, hands clenched around it for a concrete base. He didn’t feel he deserved for Jim to want him, not now—not after the debacle he had made of his life. He could feel Kirk approaching, though he didn’t look up, and he held him off for a moment with a stark statement.

“Mitchell told me what happened to you at the Academy.”

Kirk stopped, and Spock felt the stiffening even from three meters away.

“Gary dramatizes things,” Kirk said at last. “Whatever he told you must have been laid on pretty thick. It wasn’t that horrible. He’s always liked the image of himself as a white knight rescuing the beleaguered boy.”

“Are you saying the incident did not happen?”

“A lot of things happened,” Kirk evaded. “I grew up, for one thing. You can’t always have what you want just by wanting it badly enough. You learn how to take second best and make it work. The only thing that suffers is your pride.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

Kirk studied the tense figure with puzzlement. “You keep saying that. Why? I’ve never been able to understand what you think you’ve cheated me out of. I admit I was affected by what happened with us, but that was far from the only thing that influenced my life. It was important, yes, but why do you think it was _that_ important?”

Spock tightened his grip on the metal grill. “I cannot explain. You _could_ not understand. I do not myself. You will simply have to trust that I . . . intended no harm to you. The only thing that makes sense is that I loved you.”

“And now?” Kirk asked softly.

“That . . . has not altered.”

Kirk found himself studying the sensuous mouth, held in a grim line to avoid revealing the shaky emotions. Suddenly, nothing seemed more important than to kiss that mouth, soften its enforced harshness, to relieve it of the burden of speaking unfounded guilts. Impulsively, he stepped forward and pulled Spock’s head down.

The kiss was too brief, broken by Spock’s startled withdrawal. They stared at each other for a long moment, searching for the meaning in this. Both felt a timid second of uncertainty, terrified they had suddenly passed the point of no return—then realizing that they had.

“I suppose,” Kirk said shakily, “that could be termed assaulting a superior. I plead guilty . . . and unrepentant.”

Spock thought himself devoid of speech, but the word came out anyway, in a hoarse whisper. “Jim . . .” He reached out and cupped the soft cheek in his palm. “Jim . . .”

Kirk shut his eyes and pressed almost imperceptibly against the hand. “That’s what did it, you know,” he said quietly. “You touching me. Before that . . . I think I could have managed. Gone on using Gary as a replacement for something I thought I’d imagined. But, when you touched me, I knew. No one else has ever made me feel quite this way. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. I wish it weren’t, because I owe Gary a lot more than I owe you.”

Spock withdrew his hand, stung. “Then return to him.”

Kirk’s eyes opened, regarding him seriously. “And go on lying? That’s not what love’s about, is it?”

Spock turned away. “I am the wrong one to ask about love.”

He felt strong arms move around him and Kirk’s face rest against his shoulder. “No. You’re the _only_ one I can ask.”

When Kirk moved away, Spock turned around cautiously. He felt as if he were walking a wire across an abyss and any movement would mean a bottomless fall. Kirk had secured the lock on the door, and was standing in the bedroom. As Spock looked at him, he began to unfasten his shirt and draw it over his head. He tossed it to one side, and stood with his legs slightly apart, hands on his hips in a stance of strange defiance—or determination.

“You seduced me once. I guess it’s my turn. Are you ready to go to bed, Captain?”

Spock felt a rush of heat through his body, and part of his mind registered it calmly as emotional and physical stimuli driving an enormous amount of adrenaline through his body in a sudden burst. The rest of his mind was in turmoil.

“Jim . . . are you . . . sure?”

Kirk laughed, a quick, joyous sound. “For the first time in a very long time, I’m really sure of what I want. And it’s you. Seventeen years is a long wait for an encore, Spock.”

The Vulcan moved forward then. He took Kirk’s head in his hands, burrowing his fingers in the silky, bright hair, tilting it back, taking Kirk’s mouth with his. It was an electric moment, dissolving years, dimensions, time changes, settling on the reality of the present. Kirk’s mouth opened to him, asking for his tongue. He gave it, delighted by the sweet, wet taste.

They both drew back, slightly breathless, hearts pounding. Kirk ran wondering fingers over the Vulcan’s face.

“God, that was good. Makes me think of other things I want inside me.”

Before Spock could react to that, Kirk’s hands had slipped under his shirt and slid it up and off in a quick movement. Spock pulled him back into a tight embrace, relishing the feel of their bare chests pressed together, Vulcan heat against Human coolness. As he bent to kiss Kirk’s neck and collarbone; his nipple brushed against Kirk’s, and the sensation was a brilliant spark to further feed their passion. He moved lower and kissed it, then caught it lightly in his teeth, bruising it, teasing it even harder.

Kirk pushed him away and stepped back, eyes glowing. He opened the fastening of his pants with tantalizing slowness, causing Spock to clench his fist to control his instinct to hasten the action. Kirk slid the pants down slightly, until the dark pubic hair and the base of his cock was showing, then paused, reading Spock’s face and the eagerness there. Smiling, he inched them down more, until his cock sprang out freely, hard and buoyant, joyful in its simple need for release.

Unable to resist, Spock reached out to caress it, cupping the head, then stroking down the shaft and back up again. But Kirk withdrew, withstanding this temptation. He skimmed the material down his strong thighs and calves and kicked the pants off, then stood, almost as if posed, with the firepot as an unwitting backdrop. He shook his hair back from his forehead and grinned.

“Do you think I’m beautiful, Spock?” he asked impishly, some part of him needing to hear those words from the Vulcan’s lips. He wanted to blend the memory of Spock saying it with Gary’s voice, until only Spock’s remained.

Whether Spock could read Kirk’s subconscious wish, or whether he was too aroused to appreciate the teasing, his answer came out roughly. “Yes, you are beautiful. But you know it.”

Kirk’s face fell, as if he’d been scolded. “I could hardly help it. I’ve been told often enough. It never mattered much to me before . . . until now, when I’m glad because it. I thought it might . . . please you.”

Regretting his curt words, Spock moved to hold him tightly. “Jim, of course your beauty pleases me. How could it not? But I do not want you to think that is all I want of you.”

Kirk’s voice was muffled against Spock’s shoulder. “There have been times when I’ve wondered if that isn’t all I have to offer. That, maybe . . . that’s why you never tried to find me after—”

“No, Jim,” Spock whispered against his hair. “If I could have come to you earlier, I would have. I have ached for you. I ache for you now.”

Kirk lifted his face, mood shifting again, in one of his characteristic changes. “Maybe I can do something about that.”

He kissed his way down the Vulcan’s chest, pausing to suck the nipples, trace the hard ribs with his tongue, delve into the navel, until he had lowered to his knees. Jerking the pants open greedily, he pulled them down the slim legs until Spock could step out of them. He studied the large, pulsing maleness for what seemed like an eternity, letting Spock fight the growing urge to force open his mouth with it to seek the wet coolness. Licking his lips wetly, his eyes traveled back up the slightly trembling body to meet and capture the dark hunger in Spock’s. Making him wait, anticipate. Making him feel the first lingual caress mentally before he gave the mercy of the reality.

Then Kirk’s tongue flicked out, licking the tip. Spock moaned, unable to bear it, tangling his fingers in Kirk’s hair and thrusting forward until the tormenting mouth had to accept and service.

Kirk’s delight was obvious in the way he slid his hands around Spock’s ass to encourage the thrusts, willingly opening his throat to take it all, reluctant to release it in the pullback, sucking hard to retain it. All the reserve and uncertainty he had unconsciously brought to his lovemaking with Gary had evaporated. All the pleasure he was bringing to Spock—and to himself—seemed so right, as if all the sex before had been a preparation for this.

Spock threw back his head, gasping. It was too good. Too much, too quickly and his response was uncontrollable. He came in Jim’s mouth, gushing down his throat with an instinctive growl of possession.

Kirk swallowed gladly, draining the still hard phallus. Finally he released it and put his cheek against the Vulcan’s stomach, smiling. Spock’s legs felt weak, but he pulled Kirk to his feet and over to the bed, where he lay down and hugged the Human to him.

“Well?” Jim said, grinning, his face glowing in a strange mixture of mischief and shyness. “Was it good for you?”

Spock smiled gently and traced the soft curves of the Human’s face with his finger. This Kirk was not the uncertain, innocent boy he had known, nor was he the confident, sometimes impetuous, starship captain he had loved, but perhaps the best and sweetest of both.

“It can only be better for me when you have felt the same ecstasy,” Spock answered at last. He began kissing Kirk, teasing his lips apart to taste his tongue, stroking down the smooth body. He captured the erection in his palm and heated it further, until Kirk squirmed against him, panting.

Spock urged Kirk on top of him, offering himself to be taken. Kirk hesitated; Gary had seldom permitted this type of possession, and it surprised him that Spock seemed to want it. But he was too aroused to question it now. He positioned himself and pressed inside slowly, as Spock pushed his hips upward to receive him. The Vulcan’s hands skimmed down the golden back to cup the buttocks, inviting deeper thrusts. Kirk’s rhythm increased as the incredible sensations lifted him higher. He cried out at the exquisite peak as he pumped his fluid into the hot flesh, momentarily dazed by sheer pleasure.

Spock gathered the drained body to him, holding him closely, kissing his face and mouth and hair, until Kirk could regain his breath.

“I love you, Jim.”

The hazel eyes smiled sleepily into Spock’s. “Do you know that’s the first time you’ve actually said those words to me? Are they so hard for you? You don’t have to say it.”

“It is important to me that you believe it. Even if you hated me, as I deserve, I could never stop loving you.”

Kirk sighed impatiently. “Listen, I don’t care what reasons you think you have for kicking yourself, just stop it. I love you, and I won’t stand any more of this mysterious . . . guilt of yours. We’re here now, holding each other, and nothing else matters. The past is over, and the future can be . . . whatever we want.”

“And Gary Mitchell?” Spock asked softly.

Kirk’s face darkened. “He’s part of the past. If he doesn’t believe it yet, he’ll soon have to.”

Spock’s arms suddenly tightened. “I can almost sympathize with him. It would not be easy to let you go.”

Kirk kissed him, his mood lightening. “Don’t worry. It took over seventeen years to find what I wanted all along; do you think I don’t realize how lucky I am? I love you, Spock, and whatever I felt—or still feel—for Gary, it’s no more than a shadow of what I feel for you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, but what I find difficult to comprehend is why.”

Kirk shrugged. “Can anyone know why he loves? There’s more to it than mere attraction, or good or bad qualities, or common interests. They all add to it, but in the long run it doesn’t always add up to love—not this kind of love, anyway. There’s something else involved, some intangible, indefinable chemistry or . . . “ He grinned. “ . . . maybe it’s just fate.”

Spock’s lips curved into an answering smile. “Then I must be grateful to fate. It has been most kind to me.” He bent his mouth to Kirk’s again before the Human could respond.

* * *

The next morning, before his watch began, Kirk returned to his quarters for a quick shower and a clean uniform. Mitchell was waiting for him.

They stared at each other for a long moment after the door had slid shut behind Kirk. Mitchell looked red-eyed and tired, his hair mussed from running his hands through it repeatedly. He stood and faced Kirk accusingly.

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you,” he said, then added savagely, “All night.”

Kirk’s jaw tightened reflexively. “Well, that’s your own fault. I thought you understood. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

“Why did you lie to me, Jim?” Gary spat out furiously. “You told me you weren’t going to Spock, but you did. You were with him last night, weren’t you? Letting him fuck you. Are you proud of yourself? You’ve been laid by a captain!”

Kirk’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Shut up, Gary. I don’t have to take this from you.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You were with Spock?”

Kirk turned away, moving toward the bedroom. “It’s none of your business.”

Mitchell caught his arm and jerked him around. “Why, Jim? Why did you lie to me?” he demanded. “You said you were going to transfer to get away from both of us . . . and all the time . . . you were just waiting to get in his bed.”

Kirk’s anger rose at the grip on his arm, but relented when he saw the desperate, confused look in Gary’s eyes. He carefully disengaged the restraining hand before answering. “You’re wrong, Gary. I didn’t intend to lie to you. I meant what I said yesterday. But I didn’t realize exactly how much I did feel for him—or how he felt about me. It has nothing to do with you. What you and I had was over anyway, whether Spock had been here or not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Gary said numbly. “You can’t just walk away like this . . . “ His eyes narrowed, and his voice became hard and sarcastic. “He must have been a damn good fuck, huh, baby? Vulcans must have some interesting tricks I don’t know about.”

Kirk glared at him, but didn’t bother to respond. In this frame of mind, Gary wouldn’t listen to anything anyway. He pushed his was past him to the bedroom. Mitchell started to follow, but Kirk whirled on him. “Get out of here before I begin to hate you. I don’t think either of us really wants that.”

Mitchell watched silently as Kirk grabbed a clean uniform and disappeared into the head, shutting the door and shutting him out.

“Don’t do this to me, baby,” Gary whispered harshly to the blank panel. He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to steady himself. A fierce resentment lit inside him and flared. “It’s Spock’s fault. That Vulcan did this . . . “ He swept his arm across a shelf, smashing the objects on it to the floor.

* * *

“I didn’t know you were beaming down, Captain,” the technician said in surprise as Spock entered the building.

“I decided to check on the progress personally,” Spock replied coolly. “There is some important equipment that must not be damaged in transit.”

“Yes, sir. All safeguards are being taken. Some of the instruments have already been transported. The rest are being packed in the transport containers under the supervision of the scientists, sir.”

Spock nodded. Actually, at the moment, he had little more than a vague interest in this tiny scientific outpost and the three rather grizzled scientists they were to deliver back to Starbase Six. In fact, his only real interest on this small, desolate planet was a certain sandy-haired security officer.

“The work should be completed in two hours, sir,” the technician continued uneasily. “Mr. Mitchell is in the laboratory in the next building, if—”

“Thank you, Ensign,” Spock cut him off gracefully. “Carry on.” He went back outside and spotted one of Kirk’s security men. who directed him over a small rise where Kirk had gone a few moments earlier.

He located him quickly and called out, “Jim.”

Kirk turned at the sound of the voice and flashed his brilliant smile. “Captain!” Spock motioned for him to remain where he was, and walked down to join him. They were alone, with the hill blocking the view of the buildings, but they stayed a respectable meter apart, only their eyes embraced. “Hi,” Kirk said softly, his mischievous smile almost drawing Spock closer. “What made you decide to beam down?”

“You,” Spock retorted simply.

Kirk laughed. “Don’t give me that. You just got bored up there and wanted some fresh air. Captain’s privilege.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose. “That did contribute to my decision, I admit. Have you had any problems?”

“No, none at all. This planet is practically dead—no animals or insect life. A few scrubby bushes and some harmless bacteria is about all there is. And lots of rocks and dust.”

“Where were you going?” Spock inquired curiously.

“Just looking around. Exploring a little, although there isn’t much to explore. Everything is under control at the base, and I had a little time to kill before they are ready to transport.”

“May I accompany you?”

The wicked smile returned. “Well, seeing as you’ll have the Chief of Security to protect you, Captain, I suppose it would be all right.”

They walked for some time, talking quietly, easily, their gazes touching often, smiles teasing, until they were a good distance from the structures. The reddish dust blew in little circles around their feet without notice. The harsh landscape was barely seen, so full was their attention on each other. Kirk did keep a watchful eye out for unsuspected dangers, but not very seriously, for the planet had proven quite safe.

They stopped at last and Kirk said, without much enthusiasm, “I guess we should start back.”

Spock tilted his face up. “Not just yet. There is time . . . “ He drew Kirk against him and kissed him lovingly. The kiss rapidly blazed into something hotter, and they pulled apart reluctantly.

Kirk grinned. “Not enough time for that, unfortunately.”

“No,” Spock agreed with a sigh, “nor a very comfortable place. Let us start back.”

* * *

On the cliff not far from them was Gary Mitchell. The Ensign had told him of the Captain’s arrival, and it hadn’t been difficult to figure out where he had gone, or why. The fury and resentment that had been building inside him for the last week suddenly consumed him totally. He followed the path they had taken until he caught sight of them ahead. When they stopped, he circled around, edging closer until he could almost hear what they were saying from the jagged cliff where he could watch without being seen.

Mitchell had no concrete purpose in following them, no real plan of action—he was hardly thinking clearly at all. His jealousy had centered into a deep, burning hatred of the Vulcan. When he saw Spock kiss Jim, the final thread of his control snapped. He reached for his phaser, but froze when the action dislodged some loose shale,, sending it sliding and bouncing down the steep incline to his left.

Kirk was immediately alert. He held up his hand, stopping Spock. “Wait. What that was?”

“Merely some loose stones, perhaps dislodged by the wind.”

“Yeah,” Kirk said doubtfully. “But I think I’ll check it out. Stay here.”

Spock started to protest, but Kirk was already moving cautiously around the side of the cliff from where the sound emanated.

As Kirk moved farther from the Vulcan, Mitchell saw his chance. It was a simple matter to upset the precarious balance of the rocks at the front edge of the cliff. Impulsively, he shoved them, and they crashed down toward Spock. It all happened to quickly, Spock was unable to dodge all of it.

“Spock!” Kirk shouted, scrambling back over the fallen stones to the Vulcan’s side. He was lying on his face, unmoving, body covered with dust and small rocks. Kirk turned him over gently, the form totally limp in the Human’s arms. Kirk brought his hand away sticky with the green blood that covered the side of Spock’s head and face.

Mitchell came down from the cliff, the terrible reality of his action suddenly hitting him. He had imagined killing Spock so many times in his mind, the fact that he might have actually done it was too much to take in. His first instinct was to run away, but whatever else he was, he was not a coward. He was ready to face up to the consequences of his actions until he saw the expression on Jim’s face.

“Jim, I—” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look Jim in the eyes—those stricken, anguished eyes—and tell him he was the cause of this. “Jim . . .”

The dazed expression cleared as Kirk stared at Mitchell. He looked back at Spock, then at Mitchell again, realization dawning. “You . . . you did this.”

“No, Jim. It . . . it was an accident. I didn’t mean—”

“You killed him!” Kirk jumped to his feet.

“No . . . maybe he isn’t . . . Jim . . . listen to me . . .” Mitchell began backing away. The light in Kirk’s eyes wasn’t rational, not even quite sane. It frightened him.

Kirk lunged suddenly, going for Mitchell’s throat, knocking them both to the ground. It took all of Gary’s strength to break his grip and roll away, choking for breath. But Kirk was on him again in an instant, and the fight began in earnest.

* * *

Spock shook his head groggily and sat up. He could hear the scuffle in the background, but it took a moment for it to register. His head was still spinning crazily, the pain pounding in his skull until it was impossible to focus well on anything. The breath had been knocked out of him, and his tortured lungs were only now beginning to compensate. He turned toward the sound in half-motion, and viewed the combat as something far removed from himself.

Kirk was fighting with a cold, furious skill, his rage growing with each blow. Mitchell was only just realizing the deadly intent behind Kirk’s movements—and the fact that Kirk was the superior fighter. He had never consciously accepted the obvious fact that Jim was good in security because he was good at this. He knew how to fight; he had been trained to do just that. Now, in spite of Gary’s greater weight and size, Jim was tearing him to pieces with a grim determination.

“Jim—” Mitchell gasped, as he stood up shakily. “Don’t... I didn’t mean to . . .”

Kirk hit him again, sending him sprawling. Before his opponent could rise, Kirk pinned him down, located a large rock, and straightened to his knees astride Mitchell’s chest. The stone rose into the air as Mitchell’s eyes followed its movement, petrified.

Suddenly Kirk hesitated, staring down, the rock poised to descend.

The hazel eyes flickered and clouded darkly, the hands trembled.

“Gary, for— Gary . . . forgive . . . Gary . . .” Kirk’s face was a mask of shock and confusion. He shook his head in disbelief. His entire body shuddered, and the rock fell unheeded to the side. He moved off Mitchell, expression blank and unseeing. For a second he knelt there in the dirt while Gary stared at him, then he raised his hands to cover his face and screamed.

The cry held such primitive terror and agony, it sent Mitchell scrambling to his feet and a few steps back in sheer reaction. For some reason, he felt more frightened by this than by the sight of the stone ready to smash his skull. He moved uneasily, unsure whether to run while he had the chance, or follow his instincts to try and help soothe this incredible anguish. The switch in Kirk from fierce, murderous fury to total collapse had Mitchell baffled. He took a hesitant step forward.

“Jim . . . ?” he said uncertainly.

Kirk didn’t respond. He had doubled over and folded his arms over his head, as if trying to withdraw from everything. He was crying, brokenly, harshly, his body shaking with the violence of it.

Spock stood, fighting the dizziness. He wiped the blood that poured into his eye and staggered forward. His senses were returning, and the sound of Jim’s despair pulled him forward.

Mitchell was standing a few paces away, looking at Kirk with a horrified expression. Spock ignored him and went to Kirk. He knelt beside him and put his arm around the trembling shoulders. “Jim, it is Spock. Can you hear me, Jim?”

“What is it? What’s wrong with him?” Mitchell moved closer. He hardly even noticed Spock’s miraculous recovery, his attention riveted on Kirk.

Spock looked up. “Get out of here. Now.”

“I can’t . . . leave him like this. What is it? I don’t understand—”

“Don’t you?” Spock said coldly. “You tried to kill me, and he tried to kill you because of it.”

“No . . . I mean, yes, but . . . I don’t care. I can’t leave him like this. I can’t—” His voice broke.

Spock’s blind urge to end Mitchell once and for all faded as he met the tortured brown eyes. Mitchell loved Jim. He _did_ love him. And he was afraid for him now. With a painful twist in perspectives, Spock saw life from Mitchell’s point of view. _He_ was the usurper, not Gary. He hadn’t been there when Kirk needed someone. All those years it had been Gary. Memories stirred—moments when he had wished Mitchell dead, gone, out of the way—not only in this time, but perhaps even in the other time. It was suddenly possible to be compassionate.

“You cannot help him now,” Spock said softly. “You must go.”

Mitchell dropped to his knees and touched the sandy hair. “Jim . . . please . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I swear, I didn’t want to . . . I was crazy. Afraid I’d lost you. Listen to me, please! I never meant to hurt him . . . not really. I just . . . couldn’t stand seeing you . . . together. I’m sorry . . . sorry. Please . . .”

 _I cannot judge him_ , Spock thought, silently watching Mitchell. _I made a mistake far greater than he, caused by a jealousy less justified. How can I condemn him for acting out my own thoughts?_

Mitchell’s words and touch seemed to agitate Kirk even more, so Spock finally gently pushed him back. “Leave now. Return to the ship,” he said firmly. “That is an order.”

Mitchell looked at him vacantly. “But, Jim . . . ?”

“I will tend to him.”

Their gaze held until Mitchell’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he wordlessly acknowledged that that was the way it had to be. He no longer had a place beside Kirk. He had forfeited that—or perhaps it had never truly been his. With something between a sob and a moan, Mitchell stood and moved off obediently. After a few faltering steps, he stopped and looked back. “I’m sorry, Jim,” he whispered.

When Mitchell was out of sight, Spock turned back to Kirk. He was still crying, but softly, as a child cries when trying not to be heard.

“He is gone, Jim,” Spock said gently. “You can—”

“He’s dead.” The voice was harsh and torn, but there was a flat, final note to it. He lifted his head, his face suddenly very calm, though streaked with dust and tears. “I killed him.”

Spock looked at him, puzzled. “No, he is fine—”

“No! I _killed_ him, I tell you. Don’t you understand? I killed Gary!”

Even more concerned, Spock pulled closer, brushing the sand from the scratched cheek. “Listen, Jim, Gary is unharmed. I know you are upset by what happened, but it is over now. You must calm down and consider this rationally.”

Kirk stared at him blankly. “No . . . you weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. Dr. Dehner knows, ask her . . .” He glanced around vaguely. “Where is she? Oh . . . she . . . died . . . too . . .” He rubbed his eyes. “Where is the phaser rifle? Good thing you had it beamed down. Poor Gary . . . he didn’t ask for what happened to him. I wish—” He saw the stunned expression on the Vulcan’s face and stopped. “You still don’t believe me, do you? His grave is around here somewhere . . . my grave, really. It had my name . . . _my_ name . . .” He began shaking again. “What’s wrong with me, Spock? What’s happened? I’m lost. Help me . . .” He clutched at the Vulcan.

Spock felt very cold. It was unreal, impossible. How could Jim be seeing things that occurred in another time? Was there some wisp of continuity between the two timelines? Did the other continue in some way? Had he really changed it, or somehow created another? One where Jim did not become captain. Perhaps he had not destroyed the other at all, but like ripples in a stream, it had simply expanded to include another possibility.

Now wasn’t the time to think about it—not with Jim crumpled and shaken beside him. Spock shook off the puzzle for the moment and turned Kirk to face him. “Jim, listen to me. Everything is all right now. I’m going to take you back to the ship.”

Kirk glanced around vaguely, as if there was something he was forgetting. “I should . . . I can’t . . . “ His gaze finally focused on the Vulcan and sharpened with hurt suspicion. “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m crazy.” A pleading note entered his voice. “I’m not crazy, am I?”

Spock stroked his hair soothingly, holding him closer. “No, Jim. Don’t think about it now.” He was very worried about the consequences of this. As impossible as it seemed, Jim had obviously connected with the other time and felt them both. Experiencing them simultaneously must have distorted Kirk’s touch with reality.

With one hand, Spock slipped the communicator off his belt and flipped it open.

* * *

“He was in mild shock,” the doctor told Spock later, “but I think he’ll be all right after some rest. I gave him a sedative that should keep him under for several hours.” He looked at the Captain curiously. The hasty explanation that they had been caught by a rock slide didn’t quite fit with Kirk’s condition, but the expression on Spock’s face didn’t encourage questions.

Mentally shrugging, the doctor continued, “If he checks out, I’ll discharge him when he wakes. But he should remain off duty for a day or so, just in case.”

“Understood. Please inform me when you release him from Sickbay.”

“Sir, I respectfully suggest that you should take it easy, too. While I couldn’t find any broken bones or internal injuries, you’re still badly bruised. And that knock you took on the head—”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I am quite functional.”

Spock turned on his heel and left before he could protest. Spock’s body did feel stiff and his head ached abominably, but his thoughts were too troubled to permit him to rest. As he was heading for the bridge, he was paged on the intercom. He answered it almost absently.

“Captain, we have picked up a distress signal from the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. It is in the Boralis Sector, near the Neutral Zone. They request immediate assistance.”

“Have the landing party returned, and is everything secure on the planet?”

“Yes, sir. We are prepared to leave orbit any time.”

“Very well. Set course for their last position, and go to warp six as soon as possible. I will be on the bridge in a moment.”

Three hours later, they located the _Enterprise_ limping along at sublight speed after being attacked by a Romulan cruiser. Its engines were damaged and nearly half the crew were dead or injured. Spock had medical teams and engineering personnel beamed over to assist. Captain Finney was badly injured and the first officer was dead. Once things were under control on the other ship, Spock returned to his quarters to consider the situation.

After a time, Spock pressed the intercom switch. “Have Commander Mitchell report to my quarters.”

When Mitchell appeared, they studied each other silently for a long moment.

Mitchell broke the eye contact nervously. “Doctor Rice told me Jim should be all right. I wanted to see him, but . . . I thought it wouldn’t be a very good idea right now.”

“You were correct,” Spock replied evenly.

Mitchell met his gaze uncertainly. “What happened to him? He was . . . I’ve never seen him like that.”

Spock didn’t answer.

Gary bristled, seeing the Vulcan’s lack of response as a sign Spock felt Jim’s welfare was no longer any of his concern. “All right, I admit I was trying to hurt you . . . maybe even trying to kill you. I haven’t figured that out yet. But I didn’t want to hurt Jim.”

“I realize that.”

“So what happens now?” Mitchell demanded defensively. “A court martial? Should I report to the brig?”

Spock regarded him silently for a moment. “That will not be necessary. You know of the situation on the _Enterprise_?”

Mitchell nodded warily.

“There is a shortage of able command personnel on board. I want you to take command of her until the ship can make it to Starbase Six.”

Mitchell’s eyes widened. “You want me to—” He paused. “Oh, I see. It’s a handy way of getting me away from Jim.”

Spock ignored the comment. “I have found you to be a proficient officer. If you wish, I will recommend that you receive permanent assignment as first officer of the _Enterprise_.”

“Yes, I imagine you will,” Gary said bitterly. “That way I’ll be off this ship and away from Jim for good. I guess I should be grateful to you for being so generous. Instead of having me court martialed, you’re going to push for my promotion. And it’s a pretty good trade, considering—a lover I never really had for a job I’ve always wanted.” He laughed humorlessly. “You’re a real bastard, Spock . . . but you’re right. He’s always been yours. Somehow I think I’ve always known that.”

Spock didn’t know how to reply. He was torn between sympathy for Mitchell’s position, and relief that he was leaving. Understanding the other man’s loss didn’t make Spock any less pleased that he was losing.

Mitchell took a deep breath. “Okay, you win.” He turned toward the door, but paused. “There’s only one thing I ask, Spock. Make him happy.”

Spock sat for a few minutes after Mitchell’s departure, wondering if he really could make Jim happy. A call came from Sickbay, informing him that Jim had been released and had returned to his quarters. Spock resisted the urge to go to him immediately. There were other matters that must be attended to first.

Sighing, he returned to the bridge to take reports on the progress of the repairs to the _Enterprise_. They were going well, and in a few hours the ship would be able to achieve minimum warp power.

Sometime later, Mitchell seemed to have everything well in hand, and the _Enterprise_ was ready to begin the journey to the nearest Starbase. The _Phoenix_ would follow to assure its safe arrival.

Spock watched the ship before it warped out, saddened by the burnt and ragged appearance. The _Enterprise_ had meant as much to him as it had to Jim. After all, it had been his home longer than it had been Kirk’s. It was painful to see her in this condition. He suddenly realized that his actions in altering the past had done more than simply preventing Jim from becoming a captain. He had kept the _Enterprise_ from having the captain she needed. In his place was a fool who nearly destroyed her.

Whether he was believed or not, Spock knew then that he must tell Jim everything. There could be no falseness between them. Jim had to have the chance to hate him for what he had unwittingly done—or to forgive him. But he had the right to know.

As soon as the _Enterprise_ was on its way, with the _Phoenix_ trailing them at warp one, Spock took his leave from the bridge and headed for Jim’s quarters.

The door opened to his signal, and Spock entered. Kirk was sitting on the bed, and he didn’t look up as the Vulcan sat down beside him.

At last, Kirk said quietly, “Gary is gone, isn’t he?”

Spock stared at him, wondering what Jim’s words signified—if he was still confused and believed he had killed Mitchell.

“You sent him to the _Enterprise_ , didn’t you?” Kirk clarified.

Relaxing a little, Spock nodded. “Yes. It was necessary. How did you know?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out.” Kirk fell silent for a moment. “I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to him.”

“Jim—”

“No. It’s better this way. I don’t know if I could’ve faced him . . . after what happened. Not yet anyway.” He turned to look at the Vulcan. “I don’t understand everything yet. It’s all confused and tangled in my mind. The reality and that weird fantasy . . . it was a fantasy, wasn’t it? A dream, hallucination, nightmare. It had to be, Gary’s alive. But . . . it felt real, too.” Kirk’s eyes riveted on Spock, demanding an answer.

“Yes, it was real,” he said reluctantly.

Jim shivered and put his arms around himself, holding back the sense of panic. “It scares me, Spock. How can they both be true? That I didn’t kill Gary . . . but I did?” He took a deep, steadying breath. “A lot of things don’t add up anymore. Like how you were with me in Iowa seventeen years ago. I never let myself think about that much before. I don’t think I really wanted to know the answer. But now I have to know. I checked out your file a while ago, and you weren’t within a hundred light years of Earth at the time. You were an ensign on the U.S.S. Morgan. Either your file is very wrong—or something else is. I think you know what it is, and it’s time for me to hear it. Everything, from the beginning.”

“Yes,” Spock said slowly. “It is time.”

Kirk listened without moving as Spock told him what transpired—how they had been lovers in another time, how his jealousy had somehow changed the very direction of time. “I cannot explain exactly how or why it happened, for I do not understand it myself. But I do know that my actions altered the entire course of your life. How can you ever forgive me for that?”

Kirk didn’t respond. He stood and moved to the dividing screen, entwining his fingers in the mesh to brace himself. “You’re saying . . . I had another life. It’s all so crazy, I wouldn’t believe you, except . . . “ He turned back to Spock. “After what happened with Gary, I know it’s true. That was part of it, wasn’t it? In that . . . other life . . . I killed him.”

“Jim, you were not to blame. You had no choice. The safety of your ship depended—”

Kirk’s eyes snapped to Spock’s. “My ship?”

This was the most difficult part. “Yes, Jim. The _Enterprise_ was your ship. You were the captain.”

Kirk’s eyes widened wonderingly. “The _Enterprise_? Mine?” Then, to Spock’s amazement, he began to laugh. “I’ll be damned. I did it! I always had a feeling I could’ve . . .” He paused, looking at Spock hopefully. “Was I any good at it?”

Spock’s throat felt tighten. “The best captain any ship could have, and the _Enterprise_ was the finest ship in the Fleet . . . because of you.”

“I’m glad.” Kirk looked thoughtful, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, but it’s nice to know. There isn’t any point in your feeling guilty over something that can’t be changed.”

Impulsively, Spock stood and took the Human in his arms. “You forgive me?”

“It isn’t a question of forgiving, Spock. How can I miss a life I never knew? And I don’t think you can take responsibility for what happened; I still made my own decisions. And, if you are responsible in part for the life I’ve had, then I have no complaints. It’s been a pretty good life.”

Spock felt a chill run through him. Jim’s words just proved how very different he was. The James Kirk Spock had known would never have been able to casually shrug off the fact he had lost the _Enterprise_ through some strange twist of fate. It didn’t seem that important to this one. Other than being pleased to know he could have been a captain, and a good one, he was almost indifferent to the idea. The anger, the disillusionment, the sense of being cheated of what was rightfully his, was oddly absent. Now that all the confusing facts had been explained, Kirk seemed calm, accepting.

Spock gripped Kirk’s arms, pushing him back a little. “Jim, listen. Perhaps it _can_ be changed, or at least—corrected. You could still be a captain. You are young, your record is exemplary—”

“And totally unimpressive,” Kirk cut in wryly. “What are you talking about, Spock? There isn’t a chance in a thousand of my making captain now. I’ve come in the wrong direction for that. Security officers don’t become captains.”

“But _you_ could,” Spock said eagerly, becoming enthusiastic as the thought developed. Jim had the talent and the drive, if he could just convince him to put forth the effort. Everything could be put right again, with Jim in his proper place as a captain—perhaps even of the _Enterprise_! It could happen, if Jim would just let it.

“You can do anything you set your mind to do, Jim. I know you—”

“No.” Kirk jerked out of Spock’s hands and stepped back. He studied the Vulcan’s fervent expression, hearing the note of near desperation in the voice. “You don’t know me at all. I finally understand why I’ve had that feeling along. You’re trying to make me into the man you _knew_.”

“But—”

“No, you listen to me now!” Kirk shook off the tentative hand. “When are you going to believe that I’m satisfied with my life as it is? Maybe it doesn’t come up to your lofty expectations, but I have no intention of becoming someone I’m not just to suit you. I can’t be _him_. I don’t want to be.”

Spock stared at him, slowly realizing that Jim was right. He was grasping at shadows, longing for the unattainable—not for Jim’s sake, but to salve his own conscience. And, all the time, he had the most important thing right here. Even if this Jim was different in some ways, the essential person was the same, and he was perilously close to losing him by forcing his unshared ambitions. It was Jim’s life, and he had already influenced it enough.

“I am . . . sorry,” Spock said hoarsely. “I love you, Jim.”

“Me,” Kirk demanded, “or this other James Kirk?

“Both. I can’t separate them anymore. It is all you, and all the same in all things that matter.”

Kirk took a deep breath and rubbed his jaw in a gesture that was so familiar to Spock. “I’m not even sure why you loved him—this other me. A man who could kill his best friend, and go on living with the fact. And I don’t know why you would want me to be like him. He couldn’t have been a happy man.”

Spock paused, considering this. It had never really occurred to him before. Jim Kirk had always seemed content, very certain of what he wanted out of his life. But had he been happy? Kirk’s self-inflicted loneliness had been eased by their relationship, but never totally assuaged. The pressures and responsibilities of command had weighed on him heavily, even as much as he loved it.

Spock sighed. “Perhaps you are right. I am not certain of anything anymore.” He lowered his head. “I have been wrong about so much.”

Kirk dropped back on the bed listlessly. “So what happens now?”

“Happens?” Spock repeated blankly.

“To us. Where do we go from here?”

“We stay together, of course,” Spock answered in surprise. “Unless your feelings have changed because of what I told you.”

Kirk shook his head. “No, I wish . . . “ He hesitated, then looked at Spock earnestly. “I just need to know where I stand.”

“I do not understand.” Spock sat down beside him, puzzled. “You must know that you are everything to me. How can you doubt it?”

Kirk studied his face for a long moment, searching for something.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I believe you. Maybe just because I have to right now. I need to . . .” He smiled sadly. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s only temporary. I won’t be hanging on your neck forever. I just need a while to pull the pieces together.”

“Jim,” Spock said in alarm, “what we have is forever. And it is not dependency, it is love.”

“Who are we kidding, Spock?” Kirk said suddenly, bitterly. “Forever is a long time. Yes, I love you, but let’s face it, you have commitments and you can’t forget them because of me.”

“Commitments?”

“I told you I read your file,” Kirk said impatiently. “I suppose I should’ve checked it before, but . . . I think I was afraid to find out.” He misinterpreted Spock’s perplexed expression. “It’s all right. I understand, Spock. But don’t go talking about forever when you know it isn’t possible. We’ll have what we can while we can, but eventually you’ll return to Vulcan. You can’t ignore your obligations. I . . . wouldn’t want you to.”

Spock stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but strangely reluctant to ask him to explain. There was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Jim . . . I . . .”

Kirk smiled and touched Spock’s face gently. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to think about it now. We’re together.” He kissed him suddenly and urged him back on the bed. “Love me now,” he whispered. “Please . . .”

There was a wistfulness of Jim’s request, a melancholy feeling that Spock didn’t understand, but it caused him to hold the Human closer and make love to him with aching tenderness. He kissed and caressed Jim with a gentle hunger, and the sex did not arise so much from passion as from the simple need to join as closely as possible. Spock wanted to meld with him and mingle their thoughts as well, but something held him back. He sensed a bittersweet sorrow in Kirk, and even though he couldn’t deduce its cause, he was somehow fearful of discovering it.

When Jim had fallen into an uneasy sleep against his shoulder, Spock tried to reason out the meaning of Kirk’s words. _Commitments? Obligations? To whom? Vulcan? My parents? Why would I have to go back? And if I did, why couldn’t he come with me? He said he read my file. What did he find there that could come between us?_

It occurred to him suddenly that he had never thought to check his own history. He had assumed that it was unchanged. After all, he had still been on the _Enterprise_ as first officer. The fact that he could not remember any of his previous life in this time line had not seemed strange to him; he had thought it was the same—at least up to the point where Jim should have taken command of the _Enterprise_ instead of Benjamin Finney. But that was nearly four years. Four years of this life that he couldn’t account for. Even in the other time, they had been the most significant years of his life. What had happened here that was different?

It bothered him that the couldn’t remember, for there seemed no reason for this selective amnesia—unless it was the shock of altering time, especially if he was the focus of it as he believed. He had been so concerned how it might have affected Jim’s life, he had not considered the alterations in his own.

Suddenly panicked, he thought of the one thing that could keep them apart. _The Pon Farr . . . my marriage to T’Pring . . . there is no divorce on Vulcan except by the kali-fee._ But then he relaxed, confident that was not it. _She would still have challenged, with Stonn as her champion. Evidently, I defeated him. But I would not have wanted her for wife, I am certain of that._

_Even if the fever had still been upon me after killing Stonn, she would merely be my chattel. I would have used her, then freed my property, so she could practice her vicious logic on someone else. She knew that, and she was right._

But if his marriage was not the barrier Jim had found between them, what was? Unable to wait any longer to find the answer Spock carefully disentangled himself from Jim’s embrace. He went into the office and sat down at the desk, switching on the viewscreen and requesting his file from the computer.

What he saw on the screen left him stunned. It was very logical, since Jim had not been there to prevent it as he had before. He did, indeed, have obligations.

Spock had a son and a wife—Leila.


End file.
